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The Golden Apple Tree 










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“Then I implore you, give me the moonstones,” she requested softly. 



The 

Golden Apple Tree 


7Wtt 


By 

Virna Sheard 

) S- 






Illustrated by 
Norman Price 


THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 
Publishers New York 


Copyright, 1920, by 

THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 


All Rights Reserved 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. 


DEC 14 1920 

©CU605054 




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*‘To all young hearts ” 












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CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The Golden Apple Tree 1 

The Princess Pandora 31 

The Jeweled Princess 51 

A Rose Enchanted 71 

The Gargoyle and the Griffin . . . .124 

The Queen’s Tear-bottle 140 

The King’s Opal 178 






















































» 



















LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘‘Then I implore you, give me the moonstones/' she re- 
quested softly Frontispiece V 


“Verily — yes, sweetheart/’ he answered, 
the garden.” 


Facing Page 

“we will go into s 

122 


“Return to the King. Tell him I catch my falling tears in 


the crystal bottle he gave to me.” 158^ 

The King stepped closer to the ebony pedestal . . . 190^- 


Took her hand, bending down he kissed it in courtly 
fashion . . 


202 










































































































■ 

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I ' ' ’ ' :v I 





























The Golden Apple Tree 




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THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


This story happened a long time ago in the 
country where anything may happen. The people 
who belong to that country stay there, and nothing 
can induce them to journey beyond its borders. 

Also, very few travelers find their way in, be- 
cause the road that runs that way is hidden in a 
rosy mist. 

This mist-road winds around and around a ring 
of mountains that are dreadfully hard to find on 
the map — and sometimes are not on the map at all. 

You need not read this first part unless you like. 
It is only a preface, and usually people skip them. 
The story begins here. 

The King’s Highway that ran east and west 
through the City of Midas was a wonderful high- 
way. The buildings fronting upon it, the houses, 
shops, palaces and churches, had all been colored 
a brilliant golden hue, and the cupolas, spires, tur- 
rets and domes topping the buildings were tipped 
and touched with gold-leaf. 

The road was flagged with stones of deepest yel- 
low, and the whole street was so radiant and re- 


2 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


splendent that the citizens often wore smoked 
glasses when they walked abroad at noon-day. 

Upon a great topaz fastened against the door of 
the City Hall and Court House, was engraved the 
legend of King Midas of the golden touch, he who 
had founded the city and made it his home. To 
the legend was added a brief note telling that the 
city fathers had thought it wise to color the build- 
ings yellow, in memory of the bewitchment that had 
years ago come upon the avaricious King, and the 
miracle of his deliverance from it. 

This was a warning to all and sundry to beware 
of covetousness and greed and the evils in their 
wake. 

Small heed did the good people pay to the words 
graven on the topaz, and long and loudly they 
grumbled at the taxes put upon them, for it cost 
much money to paint and polish and gold-leaf the 
buildings on the wonderful road. 

In their heart of hearts, probably, they took 
pride in the highway, for no matter how much they 
grumbled they paid the taxes promptly. 

Now the most beautiful thing on all the beautiful 
highway and the most marvelous, was an apple 
tree. 

It stood in the middle of a little square before 
the City Hall, and it was by far the most prized 
possession of the dwellers in the City of Midas — 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


3 


from the oldest inhabitant, tottering on his 
shrunken legs to rest in its shadow, to the youngest 
child, tottering also, but on dimpled feet to where 
he could stand and wonder at its shining burden 
of apples. 

For this apple tree was of gold, root and branch 
and leaf and fruit. It was the one golden fact in 
a place of golden frauds. 

As long as anyone could remember, the tree had 
been there, and as long as anyone they had ever 
seen could remember. Musty documents filed 
away in musty drawers, and old, old letters and 
deeds-of-law with crumbling edges, referred to it 
casually. 

Ancient wills and testaments bore ancient seals 
stamped with a picture of this very tree. 

Generations came and went, fashions came in and 
went out, but the old, yet ever-young apple tree 
lifted its golden branches to the sky, serene and un- 
changed. 

It was taken for granted that on that far-off day 
when King Midas was bewitched of the golden 
touch, and laid hands so energetically on every 
object around him, including the very trees and 
flowers of his garden, he had touched this apple 
tree also, and by strange alchemy turned it to the 
precious metal. 

Further, it was supposed that in the King’s hour 


4 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


of repentance, when he sprinkled the magic water 
on all the golden garden to transform it again into 
a place of green growing things, this tree had been 
forgotten or overlooked, until the water was all 
gone. 

An occasional stranger gazed with awe at the 
tree of mystery and asked questions about it, but 
the citizens, who, for the most part were simple and 
unlettered, and given to seeing the pixies and war- 
locks and fairies that came and went in their own 
mountains, regarded the tree with pride but little 
curiosity, and as people do regard things they have 
always known. 

A sentinel marched in front of it night and day, 
while to the very left of it was the Town Pillory, 
and to the right the Town Gallows. There was 
no chance visitor who had found his way along the 
rose-misty road and followed it into the golden city, 
who did not quickly learn just why the pillory and 
the gallows were on the right and left of the won- 
derful tree. He was straightway informed that 
any person who as much as touched a leaf with even 
the tip of a finger, was, without ceremony, made 
fast in the pillory to languish there, whatever the 
weather, for one full day; while that delinquent 
who, for wanton mischief, folly, or thievishness, 
broke a golden apple from its branch, was without 
much ado quickly hung upon the gallows. 


5 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 

Whether by reason of this law or because of senti- 
ment, the tree was seldom molested, and the sentinel 
had but a dull existence. Apart from these simple 
restrictions the town-folk were free to come and go 
beneath the golden thing, and there was no more 
favored meeting-place than the grassy circle 
shadowed by the out-flung glittering branches. It 
may be temptation was lessened, as the apples and 
leaves hung high above the reach of any but the 
very longest arm. 

Now, it was upon a certain July afternoon that 
various things happened in the City of Midas that 
afterwards were written down in the town chroni- 
cles, and so seem worth telling about. 

The afternoon was so hot that the dazzling street 
was deserted. A white-haired priest crossing in 
front of the City Hall suddenly stopped, and then 
as though exhausted, sat down on a bench beneath 
the tree. 

The sentinel on duty before it tramped slowly 
up and down and found time heavy on his hands. 
His uniform was tight and hot and of a flaming 
scarlet. His boots shone as though made of pol- 
ished metal, while his helmet and musket felt heavy 
as lead. 

Little waves of heat quivered up from the 
ground, and at intervals a locust sang its sudden 
song of the sun. The light glanced down through 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


the golden tree until each individual leaf and apple 
seemed to shoot hot rays at him. 

It was the sort of day when dogs go mad, and 
people are apt to do things unaccountable and 
foreign to their natures; when strong men in the 
fields dread a stroke from heaven, and little babies 
wilt like flowers left without rain. 

The old priest nodded in the hot shade, and the 
sentinel went back and forth monotonously, all 
misery within, all grandeur without. He was sick 
of his task, sick of the heat and silence, and aim- 
lessly wished for something to happen — for any- 
thing, indeed, to happen that might serve to dis- 
tract his mind until the hour of release. 

And something did happen. 

Far down the golden highroad he saw a man 
coming towards him, swinging along at a swift dog- 
trot. 

The sentinel stood stock-still, because there was 
so much that was unusual about the running figure. 
Also, it was strange that anyone should travel so 
fast in the great heat. The sentinel gazed, and 
wondered what method there was — if any — in this 
seeming midsummer madness. 

On came the swinging figure down the deserted, 
dazzling street, and now the sentinel suddenly 
recognized him. 

“The King’s lion-tamer!” he exclaimed to the 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


7 


air. “Well! By my musket, he has less sense than 
I thought or else is mightily pressed for time! 
Whatever can he want in such a hurry on such a 
day? In truth these strong fellows, all brawn and 
muscle, have small brains; but I will find out his 
business when he comes nearer.” 

On came the King’s lion-tamer along the high- 
way, as though he were the winged Mercury. 

His wavy hair, thick and sun bleached until it 
was tawny as a lion’s mane, flew out around his 
head. He wore a leopard skin about his body, 
and his great shoulders and limbs gleamed like 
bronze against the yellow fur. Only did it show 
white on his forehead where the hair blew back. 

There were sandals of tanned leather on his bare 
feet, and above one knee was a golden garter set 
with topaz. 

On and on he came, and his pace quickened as 
he reached the little grassy square before the City 
Hall, where stood the golden apple tree. 

“Halt!” cried the sentinel as he came up, more 
to indicate that he was in command, than for any 
particular reason. But the lion-tamer gave not the 
slightest heed. He stopped only when he was 
fairly underneath the tree. Then he threw back 
his head, and looked up into the glittering branches, 
and his breath came in heavy gasps. 

The sentinel watched him curiously, mouth ajar. 


8 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The old white-haired priest woke up and leaned 
forward on his cane, watching also. 

The lion-tamer glanced from one to the other and 
a little smile flashed across his face. Then he 
stretched an arm towards the branch above his head. 

“Watch hard, my friends!” he said. “As there 
are no others about, I depend on you for witnesses. 
Behold me pluck the forbidden fruit.” 

The old priest rose with a sharp cry; the sentinel 
sprang forward with musket leveled. 

“Take down your arm !” he commanded. “What 
would you do? He who even touches the tree is 
punished grievously, but he who plucks the fruit is 
a dead man! Take down your arm! Take it 
down!” 

His words trailed off into a cry of horror, for 
the lion-tamer had sprung upon his strong young 
feet, caught an apple and twisted and broken it 
from the bough ! 

Then he stepped out into the sunlight and tossed 
the golden thing high into the* air, catching it as 
it fell. 

The sentinel’s knees shook beneath him and he 
turned cold in his hot uniform. His whole body 
wilted limply for a moment, then stiffened. 

“The penalty! The penalty!” he exclaimed. 
“Do you not know it, O rash fellow? I take you 
prisoner in the King’s name! By my faith, it is 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 9 

a thing I hate to do, for ’twill be hard to see so 
fine a man food for carrion crows.” 

The old priest had risen tremblingly to his feet, 
and now stood as one stricken with horror. “Why 
have you done this thing?” he asked, his face white 
and stern. “Have you any reason for this un- 
pardonable act?” 

“In sooth, good father, I have a reason,” the lion- 
tamer answered, with still the same smile. “I de- 
sire death. This is a straight road to it, so they 
tell me. I have not lived long in your country, but 
this much the veriest stranger soon learns.” 

“But why would you die ?” he asked. “Have you 
'committed some sin, a sin too great to live and 
atone for? Nay, I cannot think that possible when 
I look at thy face.” 

The man shrugged his shoulders. “It is not for 
my sins I wish to die, good father,” he said — 
“though I have sins in plenty — but by reason of a 
heart-ache that is too great to be borne.” 

“A heart-ache!” exclaimed the old priest. 
“Thou wouldst throw away life with all it means — 
thy beautiful life, now at high-tide — because of a 
heart-ache! Thou must be mad or very, very 
young. I would know wdiat has caused thee so 
hard an ache as that. Come — sit down by me on 
the bench. The sentinel will give us grace of a 
scant half-hour ere he takes thee in charge. 


10 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Make me thy confessor. Thy time may be 
short when the people hear of this deed.” 

They took their places on the little bench and 
the sentinel, somewhat addle-pated from the sun 
and the sudden responsibility and horror of the 
moment, made no protest, but stood dumbly on 
guard. 

The priest turned his face, still white and stern, 
to the man beside him. “If you have aught to 
tell me, my son,” he began, “I am over-ready to 
listen, and to give help and consolation. Nay, 
more. I find it in my soul to make excuse for thy 
rash deed, if you give me reason. Still remember 
in this I speak for myself alone, not for the peo- 
ple.” 

The lion-tamer turned the golden apple around 
in his hand, looking at it absently. 

“Wouldst really know why I desire to die? Art 
that much concerned regarding me, good father?” 

“Of a truth — yes, my son!” answered the old 
man quickly. 

The lion-tamer glanced up through the golden 
branches to the blue beyond, and then down at the 
priest with a sudden boyish smile, half-diffident, 
but wholly confiding. 

“Well, then,” he said slowly, “well, then, it was 
just by reason of bitter loneliness — and of love.” 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 11 


“Of love?” exclaimed the old priest. “Of love, 
dost thou say? Of loneliness it may be a man 
would die, but not of love, methinks.” 

The man nodded his tawny head in contradiction. 

“Listen, good father,” he said. “I come from a 
country far from here — a very far country. In 
that country my father was a noble and I his eldest 
son. We had much land of forest and stream and 
lake and meadow.” His eyes grew absent and 
misty again, and he paused. 

“Yes?” questioned the priest. 

“War came into my country,” he went on. “My 
father fought and was killed. I fought also and 
was taken captive. They bore me, bound, many 
leagues on into an unknown land, and left me in a 
prison whose whereabouts I do not know. I only 
know that as I counted time, five years went by 
in unspeakable solitude and silence.” He paused 
again, and the guard stepped a little nearer to 
listen. 

“And then?” said the old priest. 

“And then I escaped. I escaped by night; and 
when the morning broke found myself on a road 
that wound around a mountain; a lovely road over- 
hung with a rosy mist. 

“This I followed, good father, and it brought 
me to the City of Midas.” 


12 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Oh I” nodded the holy father. “To our good 
city, my son?” 

“Yes,” he answered. “I was so glad at being 
free that weariness and sorrow slipped from me. 
I felt the joy of youth and strength again, after a 
few weeks’ rest at an inn on the edge of the city, 
just within the great walls. I paid the inn-keeper 
and his wife for their kindness by pruning their 
orchard. While there I chanced to hear that the 
King’s lion-tamer was dead and he looked for an- 
other. Now, good father, I possess a strange gift. 
At home they said one of the fairies had given it 
to me in my cradle. However that may be, I have 
the gift to this day. It is no less than an influence 
potent and strong over beasts and birds, both wild 
and tame. By my eyes I can hold them, by my 
voice I can charm them, by my touch I can lure 
them, and my beckoning they will follow unless 
they be sick or under some spell of madness. This 
gift I discovered when I was a little child. The 
animals of the forest and field were my comrades; 
I knew no fear of them and they no fear of me. 
We understood each other. 

“So now I said to myself: I will go to the king 
and offer to take the place of the dead lion-tamer 1 
This I did, and was accepted and made keeper 
and trainer of the royal beasts.” 

“I heard,” said the priest, “there was another 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 13 


younger keeper. Reports said the king’s former 
lion-tamer had been killed by a lioness.” 

The guard nodded in affirmation and stepped 
nearer, listening. 

The lion-tamer turned the golden apple in his 
hand. “By Jessica,” he said casually. “She is 
still half-wild and uncertain in her moods. But to 
my story, good father. I have been keeper of the 
beasts since the winter months and have been con- 
tent after a fashion until lately. Early in spring 
the little Princess and her ladies came to watch me 
train the young lions, and — and I saw the Lady 
Belledowin.” 

The priest gave a start. “The Lady Belle- 
dowin!” he exclaimed. “The court beauty! Is 
she again at the castle? Her mourning for the 
old duke, her father, has been short.” 

“She is at court,” the man answered. “She is 
the first lady-in-waiting to the Princess. I saw 
her — and loved her, good father,” he ended. 

“But there is more to be told, my son?” urged 
the priest. 

“A little more, truly,” he returned. “Often 
after that first visit to the lions’ quarters the 
Princess and her ladies came again to look on while 
I put the beasts through their play. It was for 
those short moments I lived. To-day in the great 
heat, they came again, the little Princess , and the 


14 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


others; the Lady Belledowin also. I saw them 
coming through the trees and flowers of the garden, 
like a flock of bright butterflies. 

“You know, perhaps, the lions’ quarters? It is 
on the far side of the great Imperial gardens, and 
though artificial is like a bit of the desert. . Quite 
wonderfully like it. There are silver-gray rocks 
rising out of the pink and yellow sand. The cages 
are almost invisible by reason of being painted like 
to the desert colors. 

“The wall is stone, topped with open iron work, 
and there is a mighty gate barred on the outside, 
so when the beasts are safely caged the courtiers 
may enter the quarters. The timid are often con- 
tent to look through the iron fence. 

“The Lady Belledowin reached the great gate 
first, and I went to meet her from within the en- 
closure — for to-day it was not safe to enter. She 
already had drawn the bronze bolts when I came 
up, and we met in the open gateway. I trembled 
at sight of her beauty. In the afternoon light it 
was like a radiance that blinded one. 

“ Tt is not safe to enter the lions’ quarters to- 
day, Lady Belledowin,’ I said. ‘Even my small 
gate at the far side is double locked and forbidden 
to all but the water and food-carriers. Jessica has 
almost wrecked her cage. The door fastenings 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 15 

are loose, and I have not yet decided where to move 
her.’ 

“She laughed and threw a backward glance at 
the Princess and the court ladies who were coming 
near. 

“ ‘Pasanello’ — that is the name I bear here, good 
father — ‘Pasanello says it is dangerous to go into 
the enclosure,’ she said. ‘The locks are sprung on 
one of the cages, so he tells me; but I choose to 
think he wishes to frighten us, and belittle our 
courage. I am certainly going in. I desire to 
select, to-day, the lion-cub the king promised 
should be mine.’ 

“The little Princess ran to Lady Belledowin and 
caught her hand. You, perhaps, know the little 
Princess and her ways, good father?” 

“I have seen and heard of her,” answered the 
old man. 

“She possesses the sweetest heart and kindest in 
all the court, ’tis said,” went on the lion-tamer. 
“Now in most earnest fashion she coaxed Lady 
Belledowin to give up the thought of going near 
the cages. But it was useless. Had the Princess 
commanded she needs must have obeyed, but she 
would not respond to a request. With a little light 
and daring laugh she entered and swung the gate 
behind her. 


16 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Then she ran down the stone steps into the en- 
closure. It is a hundred yards to the cages, but 
Jessica had seen the new figure and was pacing her 
cage furiously. 

“Lady Belledowin took no heed of the warnings. 
She went on toward the cage where the lion cubs 
were sleeping, her rose-colored gown of some light 
silk, fluttering about her. The cubs, good father, 
belong to Jessica, and were removed from her be- 
cause she injured one. 

“Now as the lioness saw Lady Belledowin ap- 
proach them, she quivered with fresh rage; then 
gave a terrific roar, burst the door of her cage, and 
with one bound came halfway to my lady across 
the sand. There the great beast crouched flat, 
gathering force for the fatal spring. Lady Belle- 
dowin stood as though turned to snow. She neither 
spoke nor cried out. While one’s heart has time 
to beat once I stood also. Then I leaped to her 
side. 

“The lioness crouched still, and I faced her, fix- 
ing my eyes on her two blazing eyes. I could see 
her begin to tremble through her tense muscles. 

I gazed steadfastly at her, holding my Lady Belle- 
dowin back with one arm. To move would have 
been fatal. 

“There we stood. I turned cold and my face 
grew wet as with rain. 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 17 


“Still we stood and I suddenly felt my force over 
the lioness weakening. At that instant she sprang 
— but dropped a scant yard short of my lady. 

“ ‘Run! Run!’ I cried to her. ‘This is the one 
chance. Before she springs again! Run — and 
make fast the gate!’ 

“I heard the silken flutter of her gown as she ran, 
but I did not withdraw my eyes from the eyes of 
the lioness. She crouched again where she had 
alighted, baffled and maddened. 

“An inch nearer I moved to her, the sweat still 
cold on my face. 

“Backward she crept an inch. So we went, she 
and I gazing steadfastly. Back and back she crept, 
and I forward. Ever she lashed her tail softly 
and in her throat was a sound not good to hear, — 
yet she crept back. 

“When her cage was reached I stood quite still 
and straight and spoke. 

“ ‘Enter!’ I called in the voice she knew and was 
used to obey. 

“ ‘Enter, Jessica!’ 

“With drooping head she swung as on a pivot, 
and shrank into the cage. The muttering in her 
throat ended in a sort of sob, and I had conquered. 

“I closed the broken door, and called to one of 
the cage men who now came running; with solder- 
ing iron, he made the door fast, and to-morrow 


18 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


the lioness will be transferred to a newer cage.” 

There was a pause — then “To-morrow!” he said 
again and gave a short laugh. 

“But that is not all, my son?” questioned the 
priest again. 

“No,” Pasanello returned, “though I would it 
were. This follows, good father. When the 
lioness was made safe I went up into the garden 
where the little Princess and her ladies still stood 
in frightened silence, the Lady Belledowin in their 
midst. She was yet white as driven snow, and her 
eyes were dark and wide as with lingering horror. 
There seemed to me also to be anger in them — 
anger of a kind at herself, and at the whole incident. 
But she stood straight and beautiful as one whose 
pride still dominated. Never had she looked so 
beautiful. 

“ ‘Ah, Pasanello,’ she said, with cool sweetness. 
‘After all, you were right, and I wrong. It seems 
I owe you my life. What can I give you in token 
of eternal gratitude?’ 

“Good father, I looked at her and was dazzled 
as by the sun. For the moment I forgot I was 
not in my own country, forgot I was the King’s 
lion-tamer, and but a mountebank of the court. 
Forgot the little group of court ladies. I lifted 
her hand to my lips. T love you!’ I said. ‘I love 
you ! I ask no gift of life but your love.’ 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 19 


“My words stopped and there was a strange 
silence, as though the Lady Belledowin and the 
little Princess and the others stood quite breathless 
for that half moment. 

“Then Lady Belledowin drew her hand from 
mine and struck me lightly on the cheek. Catch- 
ing a bracelet from her arm, she threw it down at 
my feet. 

“ ‘You are insolent!’ she said in a voice low but 
sharp as steel. 

“ ‘Insolent past belief. Such as you are paid in 
gold. They render no service that cannot be so 
paid. Pick up the bracelet that pays thee !’ 

“I stood stock still and saw it glittering on the 
grass. The court ladies turned and drifted away 
through the trees like shadows, Lady Belledowin 
with them. 

“Still I stood, my heart pounding against 
my side with rage and with agony. I was as one 
consumed with rage and agony; one deaf and 
blind to everything else. There came a soft touch 
on my arm. I looked down and saw the Prin- 
cess. 

“ ‘Pasanello,’ she said, ‘you are very brave; very 
wonderful. The Lady Belledowin was cruel — 
more cruel than the lioness would have been. We 
will not forgive the Lady Belledowin for her man- 
ner of speaking to you. But you, Pasanello, you 


20 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


need not greatly care. It is only ourselves can hurt 
ourselves / 

“ ‘Good-by, Pasanello,’ she said, leaving me. ‘Be 
brave still , Pasanello.’ 

“The words came to me only as in a dream. Sud- 
denly I bethought me of the golden apple tree. A 
weariness of life shook me. I would be done with 
loneliness and humiliation — yes — and love. 

“I left the King’s garden and took the highway. 
Perhaps I ran; I do not remember. But, good 
father, that is all. The rest you know.” 

The sentinel laid his hand on the lion-tamer’s 
shoulder. He stiffened to his task. “By my mus- 
ket, you have been long winded!” he said. “If yon 
holy father had not detained you, you would have, 
this last half-hour, been safe in the Court House.” 
His eyes belied the gruff words, but leveling his 
rifle he signaled Pasanello to walk before him. 

The old priest paced with them until they reached 
the cell and the sentinel gave his prisoner to the 
officers. 

“The mayor will be informed of your deed and 
will act quickly,” he assured him in parting. “To 
your prayers. Signor Pasanello!” 

The lion-tamer reached his hand through the cell 
bars, and touched the priest who still waited with 
bowed head. 

“You have been very kind, good father,” he said. 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 21 


“Before you go, tell me you believe my story, and 
give me your blessing.” 

The priest lifted his head. “I believe thy 
words,” he returned. “Yet the plucking of the 
apple means death. But one thing can prevent it 
and that thou canst not count on. 

“I would ask thee — dost thou repent ?” 

“Of my sins — yes, father. Of plucking the ap- 
ple — no. I have had enough of life as I have found 
it. Yet, of thy kindness, tell me what is that one 
thing that might overthrow my fate?” 

Holding the priest’s hand, he flashed a quick 
smile at him. “From what I have heard of these 
people and their golden tree it must be an extraor- 
dinary happening that would appease their wrath 
at one who robbed its branches.” 

The old man shook his head. “You will learn 
of it on the morrow, when the multitude are as- 
sembled, my son — on that hour — that hour — ” His 
voice trembled and broke. 

“Think not of it, good father — but give me thy 
blessing.” 

The priest raised his hand and murmured the 
benediction, then with uncertain steps took his way 
out into the sunshine. 

The morrow came, and from far and wide the 
people assembled to see the law of their country 
carried out. A vast indignation swayed them, and 


22 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


small pity was expressed for the prisoner, a com- 
parative stranger who had returned their hospital- 
ity by crime against their beloved tree. 

The King’s heralds, in their red and blue and 
gold tunics, had cried the news of the lion-tamer’s 
deed from the city walls on the North, the South, 
the East and the West. The papers had flamed it 
out in the reddest of type. The children called it 
to each other excitedly, and the old stood and gos- 
siped over it. The mothers with babies in their 
arms held them close, thinking of the dread things 
that can overtake men who were once as dear and 
little as those they held. 

The King himself was far away on a hunting 
trip, or something might have been heard from 
him, as his moods were many, and the new lion- 
tamer in favor with him. But in the matter of the 
tree of gold the people of Midas took no advice 
of Kings. 

The mayor, aldermen, lawyers and judges had 
spent the night discussing the theft. They had in- 
terviewed the lion-tamer, taken the evidence of the 
priest and sentinel, gazed solemnly upon the golden 
apple with its short, twisted stem, and looked upon 
the branch from which it had been broken. 

The crime was fixed upon the lion-tamer, to 
everybody’s satisfaction, and there was no appeal. 
Therefore the hour for his execution had been set. 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 23 


His death was to take place at the ringing of the 
next noontide bells. 

The hour came on apace. Now throngs pressed 
and swayed around the grassy square of the golden 
apple tree. All knew the King’s lion-tamer, as the 
royal lions were often shown in public, and a sen- 
sation of awe and horror swept over the multitude, 
for they were a happy people with a dread of 
tragedy. Yet the law was the law, the golden tree 
a thing mystical and almost sacred. The deed 
against it must, they agreed, be avenged. 

The bells rang out a quarter to twelve, and the 
mayor and aldermen, lawyers and judges, all in 
their robes of office, came out on a platform before 
the City Hall. 

The crowd made way for a group of people from 
the court. They were all mounted and later would 
go hunting, but they delayed their sport a little to 
see this greater thing. 

Among them were old and young ; friends of the 
King, and ladies and gentlemen in waiting to the 
Princess. They wore hunter’s green, braided with 
gold that flashed as they rode. The little Princess 
was not among them, but the Lady Belledowin was 
of those who led the way. 

When the bells had done striking the quarter to 
twelve, two soldiers came out from the City Hall, 
and the lion-tamer walked between them. He 


24 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 

wore, as he had the day before, only the leopard skin 
about his body, the leather sandals on his feet, and 
above his knee the golden garter set with topaz, 
whereon was cut the King’s seal. 

He took his stand, towering among that richly 
clad company as a figure strangely out of place, 
and his spirit seemed quiet and unruffled. A her- 
ald blew a loud bugle-blast, and the people swayed 
nearer. The group of courtiers drew rein tighter 
on their restless horses. 

When the herald’s notes died away, the mayor 
spoke. His crimson robes marked him from the 
others, and his voice carried far. 

“Citizens of the City of Midas!” he said. “We 
have come to see the law of our city maintained. 
The King’s lion-tamer, who comes from a far and 
unknown country, has violated our most sacred 
code. He has plucked the imperishable fruit of 
our golden tree, the tree of Midas. There is the 
apple!” He held the golden globe up high for all 
to see. “The witnesses to the deed,” he continued, 
“are the sentinel and the good priest who stands 
below our platform here!” 

A low, angry murmuring ran through the crowd 
and grew in volume and force. 

The mayor lifted his hand for silence, and spoke 
again. 

“This crime was wanton and without excuse, and 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 25 


witnessed. Therefore the highest judge of our 
land has pronounced sentence of death upon Pas- 
anello, the King’s lion-tamer 1” 

The people broke into a hoarse clamoring, but 
the mayor again commanded silence. 

“Wait, good citizens!” he said. “For we have 
ever been of a fair and open mind. Old as is this 
law of ours, that the one who plucks the golden 
fruit shall die, you surely remember — though it is 
two score years since the tree was last robbed — that 
there is another law just as old.” He paused and 
a deep silence followed his words. Then — “Tell us 
the other law!” they cried impatiently, “and be 
quick in telling.” And many called: “We know 
of no other law! We know of none!” 

The mayor looked over the upturned faces surg- 
ing toward him. 

“Ay!” he returned. “You have all heard of this 
other law but have chosen to forget. I will re- 
mind you.” 

He unrolled an old parchment. “Hereon is 
written,” he continued, “the only laws regarding 
the golden tree. 

“In this place,” pointing to it with his finger, “I 
read: ‘The penalty of death is to be inflicted on 
any mortal who has come of age and thereafter 
breaks even one golden apple from the golden tree 
— unless’ (Now mark you all!) ‘unless when the 


26 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 

criminal is brought out for execution, and haply 
he or she be unwedded, there should arise one 
among you who will willingly offer to marry that 
one who is under death sentence, and lead him or 
her away down the rose-mist path that runs around 
our mountains — and so out of our land forever!” 

The lion-tamer stood as one little concerned with 
what was going on. As much as one so strong 
could, he looked tired, and his face was not anxious, 
but sad. 

The court people petted their nervous horses, 
and beside the gallows a black-robed man looked 
about in sullen restlessness. 

Again the mayor raised his hand. 

“If there be any woman among you, whether old 
or young, who will wed this man, Pasanello, and 
go with him into the unknown lands — let her come 
forward!” 

His clear voice rang out to the uttermost edge 
of the people. 

A stillness answered. All eyes were lifted to 
the lion-tamer. His face was raised now a little 
disdainfully, and he seemed to smile. 

Then through the crowd there ran a sudden stir- 
ring, and a word was called out here and there that 
soon melted into a muffled roar like the sea. 

The crowd parted, and up through the midst of 
it came a strange little half- wild figure; a girl. 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 27 


young — oh, very young — with bare brown feet, and 
tattered blue gown and tanned gypsy face and 
hands. A cloud of long, tangled, yellow hair blew 
about her head, and her eyes were sea-blue, with 
the blackest lashes that were ever seen. 

In one hand she carried a rough crook, and be- 
hind her trailed a flock of gray geese, kept together 
by the unceasing attention of a small, shaggy dog, 
who saw to it that they followed the little goose- 
girl, and not their own will. 

On she came, lightly as a brown leaf blows over 
the ground, until she reached the platform where 
stood the mayor and the city fathers and the sol- 
diers with their prisoner. 

At the foot of the platform she stopped, looked 
up, and then around. Then she dipped a courtesy 
and smiled at them all. 

“An it pleases everybody,” she said sweetly, “I 
will wed the King’s lion-tamer and lead him away 
down the rose-mist road — for I know it well. So, 
he be willing, we will go away, and never come 
again, forever! an’ ever! an’ ever!” 

The lion-tamer had leaned forward as she began 
to speak, and now looked down into her blue eyes 
that were raised to his. Down and down he looked 
into the very depths of their sea blue, and they 
answered his gaze steadily. 

“You have heard!” the mayor said to the peo- 


28 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


pie with a wide gesture of his arms. 4 ‘This lit- 
tle maid from the hills is willing to wed the pris- 
oner.” He turned to the lion-tamer, smiling. 
“Prisoner,” he commanded, “what say you?” 

As one in a dream he leaned toward her. “Ay!” 
he said softly. “By my faith, I will gladly wed 
thee, sweetheart ! I will take thee at thy word and 
follow any rose-mist path where thou dost lead the 
way. There is that in thine eyes that calls me to 
thee across the very path of Death.” 

Then the mayor stepped down and led the little 
goose-girl up to the platform. 

“Come you also, good father,” he said to the 
old priest. 

With light step the little goose-girl crossed the 
platform to Pasanello. He took her hand, and so 
they stood while the priest spoke the words that 
wedded them. 

Then the lion-tamer, caring nothing for the pres- 
ence of the staring people or the mayor and judges, 
took the tattered maid in his arms and bent his lips 
to hers. 

A sudden cheering broke from the throats of 
all the crowd below, for all the world loves a lover. 

Then in gossipy groups all scattered and went 
their way. The ladies and gentlemen of the court 
last, for it had proved so rare an entertainment. 

When the green square was almost clear, the lit- 


THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 29 


tie goose-girl took the lion-tamer’s hand. “Come !” 
she said softly. “Come, Pasanello; we must go as 
we promised.” 

“Truly — yes, sweetheart, as we promised. We 
will not linger.” He turned to the old priest. 

“Good father, we give you thanks, and farewell, 
and eternal remembrance.” 

After that they went, while the priest watched 
them, across the square of the golden tree and down 
the golden highway. There his old eyes lost them, 
but on they went out of the city gates and on to 
the road of the rose-mist, the geese following be- 
hind them, and the small shaggy dog. 

Hand in hand they went, and joyously and 
lightly as the leaves blow over the ground, and they 
laughed and talked and looked into each other’s 
eyes. 

When the city was almost lost behind them, the 
little goose-girl caught her two hands around the 
lion-tamer’s arm and turned her face up to him. 

“Look at me, Pasanello!” she cried softly. 

“Have I done aught but gaze at thee since the 
moment you came ?” he questioned, smiling. 

“Oh, I know!” she admitted. “But look again. 
Tell me what — whom thou dost see!” 

Pasanello looked, and suddenly caught her to 
him. 

“Who art thou?” he questioned. “Oh, who art 


30 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


thou — thou most strange little maid? Methinks I 
know thy face — yet doubt. Who art thou?” 

“The Princess,” she nodded against his shoulder. 
“Only the little Princess, Pasanello, stained brown 
with the juice of berries. You see I loved you — 
even — even yesterday ." 

“Oh, little Princess!” he cried, touching her yel- 
low hair. “Forget yesterday. To-day and for- 
ever it is only you I love !” 

I do not know where they went to live. I have 
heard that the King of the City of Midas and 
the country thereabout rode after them, and found 
them, and gave them castles and gold and 
lands and all the lovely things that people really 
do not need. But I am not sure about this. 
Pasanello may be only a shepherd somewhere in 
their hills, and the Princess may yet tend a flock of 
gray geese. No, I do not know for certain where 
they went or how they lived. The only thing I am 
really sure of is that they were happy wherever it 
was, and if we ever run across them, we will find 
they are happy still. 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 


The Princess Pandora sat in the garden one 
midsummer day and watched the head gardener cut 
roses to fill the great rose jars in the palace halls. 

She sat very still on one of the white marble seats 
that were scattered rather like tombstones here and 
there under the trees, and her attendant ladies 
strolled about, watching her furtively, the better to 
keep in touch with her passing moods. 

An ebony-hued hideous dwarf in brightly em- 
broidered tunic stood behind the Princess and waved 
a huge feather fan, and the court jester, who was 
slight and handsome, turned a series of handsprings 
across the grass before her, in the faint hope that 
he would thereby bring a smile to her lovely but 
weary and unutterably bored little face. 

His bells tinkled in pleasant chime, and his per- 
formance appeared to delight him personally to 
such an extent that he occasionally laughed aloud, 
or drew his scarlet lips into merry curves and twists. 
Then across the lawn he rolled in a red and yellow 
hoop, and finally came to a pause before the 
Princess, with his variegated heels in air, and all 

31 


32 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


the belled points of his motley suit turned upside 
down. 

“Thank you, Beppo,” she said gently, “that was 
very nice — very clever — but you need not do it 
any more.” 

The jester suddenly righted himself, and sat 
down cross-legged on the green. 

“But it used to amuse you, your Highness,” he 
said, wagging his head, a look of chagrin shadow- 
ing his face. 

“That is quite true, Beppo. Indeed it used to. 
I remember when I thought it very funny, and 
even laughed; but I am tired of it, you see.” 

“Yes,” said the jester, nodding slowly and breath- 
ing deeply, by reason of his recent exertions. “Oh, 
yes, I see.” 

The dwarf waved the fan indolently. From the 
expression on his shining black face he was neither 
asleep nor awake, but in the delectable borderland 
midway between. 

“I see,” remarked the jester again, thoughtfully. 
Then a sudden smile lit up his eyes, and he gave a 
soft whistle as of one overtaken by a happy thought. 

“Let us go and look at the peacocks,” he ex- 
claimed; “they are spreading their tails most beauti- 
fully to-day.” 

“The peacocks!” said the little maid with a sigh. 
“Oh, Beppo! I thought you were going to say 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 


33 


something quite different — that you had a really 
new idea. I am tired to death of the peacocks.” 

“We might feed the swans?” he suggested, his 
head on one side. “It is always jolly good fun to 
feed the swans, don’t you know?” 

“I suppose it might be if they were ever hungry,” 
she said, “but the swan-keeper feeds them so much, 
they never are hungry, and they always seem so con- 
descending and patronizing when I offer them bis- 
cuits. They are so very grand about nothing at 
all, for they only swim round, and round, and 
round.” 

“And round, and round, and round,” continued 
the jester. “Quite so. I follow you. You mean 
something like this” — waving his arm in slow circles. 

“Yes,” she nodded, “that’s the way. I am ex- 
ceedingly tired of the swans, Beppo.” 

The ladies-in-waiting trailed their satin gowns 
over the lawn and yawned very frequently. The 
old head gardener went on snipping off red and 
white roses ; the black dwarf waved his fan. Over 
the purple flowers of a trumpet vine close by, many 
bumble bees hummed their soft bass solos. 

“Would you enjoy a game of tic-tac-toe?” asked 
the jester after a while. 

The Princess Pandora glanced at him. “I am 
no child,” she said, in a little cold tone. “You seem 
to forget I am almost seventeen.” 


34 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Pardon!” he cried with mock humility. “But 
let me see — now, anyone of any age could play 
battledore and shuttlecock — ” 

“No, no!” she interrupted him. “I have no de- 
sire to play that either. It is duller than croquet, 
and croquet is duller than tennis, and tennis is 
worse than nine-pins, and nine-pins is so desperately 
tedious that you remember I told you to give all the 
pins away.” 

“Really, your Highness, I had forgotten,” he 
said ruefully. Then, as one at his wit’s end: “but 
there was a time when you liked those games — and 
the games are the same.” 

“Yes,” she returned, “there was a time. I am 
just tired of them, that is all. They don’t seem 
worth while; one does not live to play games — or 
be amused, Beppo.” 

“Doesn’t one?” he mused, glancing down at his 
motley. Silence fell between them for a little, and 
the shadow crept around the sun-dial. A locust in 
one of the trees suddenly started his queer song, 
and as suddenly stopped. 

The jester leaned forward, his chin on his hand. 
“I could tell you a story,” he said, his face brighten- 
ing; “a perfectly good story.” 

“A new one, Beppo?” questioned the little 
Princess, almost eagerly. “Without kings, or 
queens, or princesses in it, and without princes on 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 


35 


prancing steeds, or lovers riding through enchanted 
forests, or giants, or robbers, or robbers’ caves and 
hidden treasure — a story without a single fairy- 
godmother or horrible dwarf, or beggar-maid who 
turned out to be a princess, or fiery dragon, or 
sleeping beauty — or — ” 

The jester clapped his hands to his ears, and his 
face grew frankly miserable. 

“Nobody on earth could tell a story and leave all 
those things out,” he exclaimed. 

“Unless they can,” she returned, with a faint 
smile flitting across her little pale face, “unless they 
can I don’t want to hear a story, Beppo.” 

The jester uncrossed his legs and crossed them 
the other way. Then he tinkled the bells on the 
long pointed toes of his red and yellow shoes. 

“How would your Highness like a taffy-pull?” 
he ventured after a pause. “There are worse 
things than a taffy-pull — or — or we might pop 
corn and roast chestnuts, and make a pumpkin- 
head with a candle inside.” 

“Oh, dear, Beppo !” she answered gently, “what- 
ever would be left to do on Hallowe’en? Is that 
all you can think of?” 

“We could run races — tag — you know,” he said 
doubtfully. 

“I suppose we could,” answered the Princess, 
“but what for?” 


36 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“It that a riddle, your Highness?” 

“If you care to call it one, Beppo.” 

“Well — ‘just for fun’ is the answer,” he returned, 
his smiles back again. 

The little Princess shook her head. 

“It wouldn’t be,” she said. “You would not 
run your fastest — and none of the court ladies 
would run their fastest, and you would all let me 
win, I know. That kind of a race does not amuse 
me any more, and anyway, I am too grown up for 
it.” 

“Oh,” he said, uncrossing his legs again, “if you 
look at it that way, of course; but — do you know” 
— glancing up at her keenly — “it seems to me, your 
Highness, that you are the victim of an attack — 
a very small one, of course — but still an attack of 
‘ennui.’ ” 

“What is ‘ennui,’ Beppo?” questioned the 
Princess, with some interest. “That is the word 
my godmother cut out of my French dictionary, I 
believe. I have always wanted to know what word 
it was — at least, I used rather to want to know.” 

“Well, you do know, your Highness. You have 
it,” said Beppo, winking one eye. 

“That is nonsense,” she answered. “Kindly tell 
me what it means.” 

“Then let me see,” he hesitated, casting about in 
his mind. “It means — it means — traveling on a 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 37 


long gray road under a gray sky, with gray sodden 
fields on either side, and not traveling to get any- 
where in particular, and having no company.” 

The Princess threw up her small hands. 
“That is the silliest explanation I ever heard!’’ she 
exclaimed. “I have the palace gardens, and the 
court ladies, and many games — and you — and, oh! 
a thousand things.” 

“It was silly,” he said in a crestfallen way. “I’ll 
have another try at it. It means that you have 
everything you want.” 

“That’s entirely different from the other explana- 
tion, anyway, only perhaps it means that I have 
everything. I haven’t wanted anything for quite a 
long time.” 

“That’s nearer it,” he nodded; “that’s about what 
it means. And the cure — ” 

“Yes, the cure?” broke in the little maid. 

“The cure is just to want something, or to want 
something — tremendously ." 

“Do you , Beppo?” she asked. 

A swift smile crossed the jester’s face. 

“Rather!” he said, making a sudden pass at a 
heavy-winged bumble bee. 

“And do the maids-of-honor?” she asked again 
slowly. 

“They do, indeed, your Highness. They are 
keen for new gowns and finer jewels, and more balls 


38 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


and richer lovers, and more of them. They never 
have enough of any of those things.” 

“And I — I have far more than I want,” she re- 
turned with a sigh, 

“Even more lovers?” he asked, leaning towards 
her. 

“Oh, yes,” she answered, “there were three came 
to ask the King for my hand in marriage only last 
week.” 

“I believe I saw them,” said the jester, with a 
droll wink. “One was short and broad — oh, very 
broad, and he glittered in green and gold; and one 
was tall and spare — most exceedingly spare — and 
he glittered in rose and silver; and one was thick- 
set and fierce-eyed and black-bearded like a pirate, 
and he glittered even more than the others in armor 
that seemed made of jet. It is quite true you have 
plenty of lovers, your Highness.” 

Then, after a moment, he looked up at the 
Princess sidewise. 

“The poor never suffer from ‘ennui/” he said; 
“they have always something to interest them — 
something to want — something to strive for. I 
myself was hungry once, tremendously hungry; 
you can have no idea what an interesting experience 
it was. I assure you the poor get a good deal out 
of life; they really live it.” 

“I have never seen any poor,” said the Princess. 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 39 

“There are none in the kingdom. The King has 
had them all banished, I believe.” 

“That is quite true,” the jester returned. Then 
suddenly he sprang to his feet, all his bells a-jingle. 

The box of blue butterflies!” he exclaimed. “I 
had forgotten all about it. The hunters have had 
it sent, as the King ordered, and the butterflies are 
to be set free at once in the garden.” 

“I would like to see the butterfly hunters and 
hear from themselves the story of where they 
searched, and how they captured them,” said Pan- 
dora. “Send the butterfly hunters to me here.” 

Beppo’s face lengthened. 

“The hunters did not return, your Highness,” 
he said slowly, “only the box was shipped from a 
far port. In the damp, hot country where these 
butterflies . were caught, men often fall ill of a 
strange fever. This evil befell the men who fol- 
lowed the King’s orders. They did not return.” 

The little Princess gave a slight shiver in the 
warm sunshine. Her jeweled hands moved rest- 
lessly for a moment, then were still. 

“Tell the servants to bring the box of butterflies,” 
she commanded. 

The jester obeyed, and shortly returned with 
two servants, who carried between them a great 
glass box, lightly covered at the top with silver 
wire. 


40 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Through the glass gleamed the wonderful wings 
of many dazzling blue butterflies. The Princess 
caught her breath at the sight. They were of every 
shade of blue, and were iridescent. Their wings 
sparkled and glittered, and caught the light like 
blue flame. 

“Unfasten the screen, and set them free!” cried 
the Princess, clapping her hands. “Let them fly 
through the si in. Oh, Beppo! Did you ever see 
such beautiful things?” 

Beppo never had, apparently, by the way he 
watched them. But his wise young face looked 
white and sad for the moment, and he said little 
in answer. 

“Do you not like them, Beppo?” exclaimed the 
Princess, half-impatiently. “Do you not wonder 
at them? Why don’t you say something?” 

“I was thinking; pardon me, your Highness, just 
thinking.” 

“Of what?” she demanded imperiously. 

“Of the deep swamp-land where these pretty 
things come from, and of the hot fever mists that 
rise there at night; of the loneliness of the jungles, 
and the darkness of the long nights when there is 
no moon,” he returned gently. 

The Princess gave a little shrug. “Don’t spoil 
it all,” she said, “and just as I am getting inter- 
ested.” 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 


41 


The jester laid one hand on his heart, and bowed 
low. The merry curves came swiftly back to his 
Xnouth. 

“What is your royal pleasure?” he inquired. 

“Unfasten the screen, as I said before,” said the 
Princess. 

Beppo turned the screws and lifted the wire cover 
from the glass box. The butterflies seemed to 
realize that their imprisonment was over, for one 
by one they rose, unfurled their exquisite wings, 
and fluttered up into the rose-scented air. 

One by one they went, and the Princess watched 
their flight with soft exclamations of admiration. 
Then after a little she watched them in silence and 
with less intentness, and when the very last of the 
blue wings had flown up from the box she sat down 
rather wearily on the marble seat again. 

“There are so many of them, Beppo,” she said, 
“and after all they are only butterflies, and all 
alike.” 

“Oh, hardly!” he replied laughingly, “they are of 
a thousand different shades!” 

“But all blue,” she insisted, “and they flutter just 
like common butterflies. Tell them to take the 
box away.” 

The jester glanced into the empty glass cage be- 
fore replacing the cover. 

“Why, your Highness,” he exclaimed, “there is 


42 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


still another butterfly at the bottom. His wings 
are folded together, and are like dead leaves. I 
will stir him a little with a blade of grass to make 
him fly out also.” 

The Princess went over to the box and looked in. 

“He is very ugly and big,” she said, “and his 
wings are just like faded autumn leaves, as you say. 
He seems asleep. Yes, stir him up and make him 
fly away.” 

The jester took a long blade of grass, and 
touched the quiet butterfly. Two, three times he 
touched him, and then the dull-colored wings fell 
slowly open — and, marvel of marvels, on the upper 
side they shone with all the hues of the rainbow. 

The blue butterflies appeared to have found their 
paradise in the rose garden; but this one flew high 
and straight toward the garden walls. His wings 
might have been set with cut jewels, they so blazed 
with the reflected light, and were of all the colors 
that we of this world know. 

“Follow him! Follow him, Beppo,” cried Pan- 
dora, gathering up her long gown, and starting in 
pursuit of the butterfly. “Don’t let him escape 
from the garden. See, he is over the wall!” 

The jester caught the Princess by the hand, and 
off they ran wildly. 

On and on and on they went; their young feet 
skimmed the ground. 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 


43 


The old gatekeeper gazed after them with star- 
ing eyes and mouth open as they passed him. 

The red-coated sentinels on duty almost dropped 
their rifles. The maids-of-honor, who had followed 
in half-hearted fashion as far as the gates, think- 
ing Beppo and the Princess were trying some new 
and extraordinary game, gave up the chase as they 
grew overheated, and returned aimlessly to the 
lawn. 

Down the King’s highway flew the strange 
butterfly, and swiftly after him came the Princess 
and the jester with his bells jingling and jangling, 
and his long-toed shoes raising little puffs of white 
dust on the road. 

All the pins slipped out of the Princess’s hair, 
and the wind caught it and blew it out in a golden 
cloud. Still her little jeweled feet kept pace be- 
side Beppo’s red and yellow ones, and neither she 
nor the jester thought of giving up the chase. 
Neither felt tired or hot or discouraged, though the 
butterfly was far in the lead. 

One idea possessed them — to overtake it, capture 
it, and bring it back to the King’s garden. 

Sometimes it would alight for a moment, and 
then the two, with much soft creeping, tried to gain 
on it a little ; but it was off and away always long 
before they reached it. However, these pauses 
gave them rest and new strength. And now the 


44 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


country changed as they ran on. There were fewer 
castles, fewer great gardens of the rich. Here and 
there was a farmer’s house, a blacksmith’s forge, a 
humble church, a shepherd’s hut. 

On the highway now and again one would pass 
them whose clothing was not the gay clothing of 
a courtier. A blind beggar even stopped them to 
ask for alms. 

Yet on flew the butterfly, and the little Princess 
and Beppo ran after it in mad pursuit. They had 
no breath now to spare for talking, and anyway 
the matter did not seem to need talking about. 

Longer grew the shadows; they fell across their 
path from tall, wayside trees in black bars. And 
now the sun slipped behind the hills. By and by 
the last rosy gleam died out of the west, and twilight 
came. 

Still they caught the glint of the strange be- 
jeweled wings, and still they ran on in their wake. 

But at last, when they were almost spent, the 
butterfly settled on the branch of a tree, closed its 
wings together like dead oak leaves, and became lost 
to sight among the other leaves, as though he had 
donned a fairy’s invisible cloak. 

The Princess sank down by the roadside and tears 
filled her eyes. 

“He is lost! lost!” she cried, panting for breath. 
“We will never, never catch him now.” 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 45 

“Oh, yes, we will,” replied the jester, his heart 
beating hard. " To-morrow! I will watch for him 
at earliest dawn. Now though, I must take you 
home.” 

“But I will not go home without the butterfly,” 
she said determinedly. “Thank you just the same, 
Beppo.” 

Do you mean you will stop here all night?” ex- 
claimed the jester. 

“Of course,” she answered calmly. Beppo 
shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 

“Well, if you will stay, there’s a shepherd’s hut 
yonder,” he suggested. “Could you sleep there, do 
you think?” 

“Certainly I can sleep there,” she said. “Why 
not ? And certainly the shepherd can give us some 
supper, and then in the morning we will be ready 
to catch the butterfly. But” — eagerly — “do you 
really think we will catch him?” 

“I think we will,” he answered. “People usually 
do get what they go after, when they go after it 
as — as hard as we’ve been going for some miles. 
Come, it grows darker ; we will go.” 

They found indeed the hut had belonged to a 
shepherd. His crook hung on the wall, and a pile 
of sheepskins had been his bed, but no shepherd was 
within, neither was there a candle in the place, nor 
any food. 


46 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Are you very hungry, Princess?” asked the 
jester anxiously. 

“Yes, Beppo, I am,” she replied, sitting down on 
the shepherd’s bed. “It is a most interesting feel- 
ing, Beppo.” 

He smiled in the dark. “And you want the 
butterfly?” he said. “That also, I should think, 
was another interesting feeling. Now, if your 
Highness will rest I will go and try and find our 
supper.” 

Pandora lay back on the woolly skins and closed 
her eyes, though she had no intention of going to 
sleep. She knew she was so hungry she could not 
possibly do anything of the sort. Nevertheless, 
presently she was dreaming that she and Beppo still 
followed the radiant butterfly down a long and un- 
known road. 

When she opened her eyes it was high morning, 
and the sun streamed into the rough little hut. 
Beppo was looking in at the window, and he had a 
jug of milk in one hand and a loaf of black bread 
in the other. 

“The butterfly?” questioned the Princess, rising 
quickly. “Oh, the butterfly, Beppo?” 

He shook his handsome head, and his half -merry, 
half-sad face looked down at her. 

“The butterfly,” he hesitated, then went on, “the 
butterfly has gone — there is no trace of it. I have 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 47 

looked far and wide. Perhaps it flew away in the 
night.” 

She gave a little disappointed cry. “I wanted 
it so,” she said bitterly. “Oh, I wanted it.” 

“It is very interesting,” answered the jester 
softly, “to want anything that much, little Princess. 
It is better than not wanting anything — much 
better.” 

“You are unkind,” she answered with a catch of 
her breath. “Now that I’ve lost the butterfly, you 
know that I will want it always ; and who can tell 
where it has gone?” 

He smiled at her. “But it is somewhere, and you 
may have the hope of finding it — just any time. 
That, too, adds zest to life, my Princess.” 

Pandora was busy eating a large piece of coarse 
black bread. She waited till it was quite finished 
and she had taken a long drink of *milk. Then 
she answered. 

“Perhaps that is true,” she admitted, “but I 
hardly think you understand how much I wanted 
that butterfly, Beppo. No man could understand. 
He was so beautiful. So beautiful! I don’t be- 
lieve you ever wanted anything so much as I wanted 
that.” 

“Don’t you?” he answered, flipping his bauble 
in the air, his whimsical smile coming and going. 
“Really, don’t you, your Highness?” 


48 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The Princess flicked the crumbs of black bread 
out of the window to some common little sparrows, 
who fell upon them greedily. 

“No,” she reiterated, “I don’t believe you ever 
wanted anything so much as I wanted the butter- 
fly." 

There was a pause, while the sparrows chattered. 
“But — but, did you, Beppo?” she ended. 

The jester tossed the bauble high, and caught it 
lightly. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Oh, yes!” 

“Well, what did you want, then?” she questioned, 
her eyes round with curiosity. “I would really like 
to know.” 

“I wanted to be a Prince,” he said, “since you 
command me to tell you.” 

“A Prince!” she exclaimed, “but why? Why a 
Prince, Beppo? They are very dull as a rule, 
and they are selfish often, and not always handsome 
— or amusing — or even charming of manner, or any 
of those things, while you — you are much better 
than any Prince I have ever seen, for you are never 
dull, and never selfish, and you are always hand- 
some, and generally amusing, and you have the 
most charming manner. Oh, Beppo, there is no 
smallest reason in your wishing to be a Prince.” 

“There is one reason,” he answered, still tossing 
the bauble. 


THE PRINCESS PANDORA 49 

“Then what is it?” she asked. “Why not tell 
me?” 

“If I were a Prince,” he exclaimed, “I could ride 
to the Palace hall and ask the King 1 for the hand of 
his daughter in marriage.” 

“Oh, Beppo!” she said, with a little soft cry. 
“Oh, Beppo!” 

Then she touched one of his red and yellow 
sleeves with her small hand. “The King,” she said 
in so low a voice the jester had to bend down to 
hear it, “the King has many titles in his gift. I — I 
will ask him to make you a Prince, Beppo.” And 
having said so much she hid her eyes against his 
motley shoulder. 

But the jester lifted her rose-bright face, and 
made her look up into his eyes. 

“Little Princess! Little Princess!” he said. 
“Do you know what you would do?” 

“Truly, dear jester,” she answered, “I do know. 
I leave joking to you. For me — I am in earnest.” 

Then he caught her fast in his arms, and the bells 
on all the points of his pied tunic chimed together. 

“The butterfly led us into the country of love, 
sweetheart,” he cried, softly, “into the country 
where no one is ever wearied of the days or nights, 
but always desires the morrow.” 

The Princess glanced up through her lashes and 
smiled at him. 


50 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“He has also brought us into the country of the 
poor — to judge by the loaf of black bread and the 
jug of milk you brought for breakfast; and the 
poor — did you not tell me yourself, Beppo — the 
poor never lack for interest in their lives ?” 

“So I told you,” he nodded, smiling back. 

“Then I will surely ask the King to make you a 
Prince over this very country,” she asserted, “and 
we two will learn of the poor how it is they never 
know that unspeakable sensation you called ‘ennui’ 
— that word my godmother cut out of the French 
dictionary.” 

The jester stooped and kissed a curl of her yellow 
hair. 

“Yes, sweetheart, we will learn of the poor,” he 
answered, “I like that idea of yours very much.” 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 

They tell me this story happened about the year 
One, and in a country — a wonderful country — that 
lies just over the rim of the world; across the place 
where the sky and the earth go into a gray blur, 
you know ! 

The country is there now; anyone can go to it at 
any time, and it is quite as wonderful as it used to 
be when my Princess — the jeweled one — lived 
there, ever so long ago. 

I thought it would make it more interesting to 
tell you this ; but now the story really begins : 

The King and Queen of Dazzledean had no 
children. Everybody else, even the very poor 
people, seemed to have any number, and so the King 
and Queen wanted them too — very much. They 
wanted about ten, but they would have tried to be 
content with less. 

At last, as time went on, and there was nobody 
in the palace but decidedly grown-up people — the 
kind who walked, but never ran; smiled, but never 
laughed; talked in long, hard words, and liked to 
stay indoors when it rained — why, the Royal couple 

51 


52 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


felt that they had come to the limit of their patience. 

Sober, uninteresting folk of this sort bored them 
unspeakably, and they felt they had reached such 
a pass that they would be satisfied with one little 
child. They didn’t even make a point of saying 
whether it should be a boy or a girl. 

They wanted to hear quick, light little footsteps 
running up the great stairs, and the sound of eager, 
merry voices ringing from room to room; the noise 
of games being played out in the big gardens, and 
the galloping of ponies up and down the graveled 
walks. 

The King got so dreadfully tired of his library, 
full of leather-covered books in dead languages, 
that he locked it up, and wouldn’t go near it. 
But he ordered dozens of picture-books, the nicest 
ones he could hear of — and all those just because 
it was a relief to see them around. 

And then, what do you think happened? Now, 
what do you think? Why, there was a little baby 
Princess sent to the palace! Yes, really! A per- 
fectly darling, little, sweet, pinky baby Princess! 
You never in all your lives heard anything like the 
mad ringing of the bells of Dazzledean then! 

All the old bell-ringers (and there were twenty 
of them in leather suits) got tired out in no time, 
because, you see, they had been used to so little ex- 
ercise. The bells had only been rung for fires and 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 53 

church before, so naturally the bell-ringers 
wouldn’t have much muscle to speak of. 

But the King ordered the ringing to be kept up 
for six hours, so all the boys, the football and cricket 
boys, went up into the belfry and took a turn at the 
ropes. 

And they had feasts, too, and torchlight pro- 
cessions, and fireworks, and brass bands at the cor- 
ners of the streets. 

All the prisoners that were waiting to be ex- 
ecuted, in whatever way they do it in that country, 
were set free ; and all the others who had been kept 
in dungeon cells for years and years till everybody 
had forgotten what they were put in for, were set 
free. And all the debtors who hadn’t any money 
to pay their debts were let out of their prisons and 
set free, and it was a most happy time. 

As for the orphans in the orphan homes, they 
had ice-cream, and the children in the Sick Chil- 
dren’s Hospital were told to wish, and they could 
have whatever they wanted most. The King got 
a special fairy to come and give it to them — for 
there were fairies in that kingdom. 

And that is how all the trouble came. You see, 
the King and Queen invited the fairies to the 
christening of the baby Princess in the ordinary 
way, but, unfortunately, one of the fairies was for- 
gotten. That is just the kind of carelessness that 


5 4 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


has been the cause of more trouble than anyone will 
ever know or dream of. 

It was a very splendid affair, the christening, and 
all the wise, and old, and high and mighty were 
there from far and near. All the soldiers and 
sailors, all the knights and ladies, all the squires and 
dames, all the little glittering pages in silver and 
gold, and all the fairies were there; that is, all the 
fairies but the one who had been forgotten when the 
invitations were sent out. She was a Grand 
Duchess, and it was the greatest mystery how she 
could possibly have been forgotten. 

But, at the last minute, when the Archbishop, in 
his crimson and white robe, was just taking his 
place; and the King and Queen, in their ermine 
and purple robes, were just taking their places; 
and the head lady-in-waiting, carrying the little 
Princess in her pearl-embroidered robe, was just 
taking her place, and the fairies were all folding 
their rainbow-hued wings, and standing on tiptoe 
to see; and all the people, from those of the most 
importance down to those of no importance at all, 
were in a flutter of suppressed expectation and ex- 
citement — suddenly, there was a clap of thunder 
that shook the building, and down through the air, 
as though she slipped on a long ribbon of lightning, 
came the forgotten fairy! 

She took her place near the Archbishop, where 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 55 

the godjnothers and godfathers stand, and her face 
was dark with fury, while her eyes fairly flashed 
fire. 

‘T shall not ask how it happened that I was over- 
looked at this auspicious time,” she said, addressing 
His Majesty; “nor shall I demand explanations 
or apologies. Every princess born in Dazzledean is 
my goddaughter by right, and I shall not fail to 
bestow a gift upon this one. Proceed!” 

So they proceeded, though the Archbishop’s voice 
shook, and the King and the Queen could hardly 
make the responses, their teeth chattered so. 

Everybody in the church was in a state of inward 
panic, down to the last and least kitchen wench on 
the edge of the throng and her knees simply 
knocked together. 

Indeed, the only person who did not seem a 
penny the worse was the Princess, and she slept 
serenely through the whole ceremony. 

After it was over, and she had been named Em- 
eralda Rubyona Pearleata Sapphirena Turquois- 
ette, the fairies came up to bestow upon her their 
gifts. They gave her beauty and grace, and wit 
and wisdom, and courage, and many, many other 
things which lots of people have who have no fairies 
at their christening at all. 

Now, just when the Royal couple were beginning 
to cheer up a trifle, the fairy who had been for- 


56 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


gotten came forward with her gift. Her voice still 
trembled with anger, as she touched the sleeping 
baby with her star-tipped wand. 

“I will give her Vanity ” she said. “And her 
vanity shall change her beauty to the things it is 
said to resemble.” So saying, she unfolded her 
glistening wings, and flew away through the sun- 
light. 

Then one other, a very insignificant fairy, and 
the last one of all, came up and touched the Princess 
with her wand — quite a common affair, without any 
star worth mentioning — and she spoke in a small, 
muffled voice that hardly anybody heard. 

“I will give her Unselfishness ” she said. “And 
by it she shall turn her beauty back to what she 
wishes it to be.” Saying this, she, too, flew away. 

When the King and Queen and all the rest heard 
the fairy who had been forgotten bestow her gift, 
they were tremendously relieved to find that things 
were no worse. Vanity is certainly an undesirable 
attribute, but when you come to think of the things 
that might have been given, you can easily see it 
was not so bad. A little vanity, anyway, is natu- 
rally looked for in a princess, and they concluded 
it could, with judicious training, be kept within 
bounds. 

In fact, after the forgotten fairy flew away, 
everybody began talking at once, and no one paid 


57 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 

much attention to the last fairy’s gift of Unselfish- 
ness. It was not a very popular virtue at Court, 
and was considered old-fashioned, out of date, and 
rather absurd. To be sure, the Archbishop, who 
was himself somewhat old-fashioned, had smiled 
over at the small, insignificant fairy, as though 
he understood, but that was not noticed. 

Well, after this, things went on in a delightful 
way at the palace of Dazzledean. The Princess 
grew fast, and was so merry, so bright, and so 
happy that she kept the whole Court in high spirits. 
She seemed to love everybody, and everybody 
loved her; and she wasn’t a bit proud, but would 
play battledore and shuttlecock with the smallest 
kitchen maid, if there did not happen to be a page 
just at hand. 

She grew more and more beautiful, and, alas ! as 
time went on, vainer and vainer also. There was no 
denying it. She would stand before the mirror by 
the hour, looking at her own charming reflection, 
when she should have been practicing scales, or 
reading her book ; while she never wearied of being 
told how perfectly lovely she was. 

After a while this grew exceedingly tiresome 
for everyone except the Princess, for instead of get- 
ting better it grew worse. At last, for the sake of 
peace and quiet, the King engaged a regular staff 
of paid ladies to do nothing but wait upon the 


58 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Princess, pay her compliments, and think of new 
adjectives to express admiration. Moreover, the 
Princess, although kind-hearted in every other way, 
would not allow another beautiful girl to live within 
the kingdom. Whenever she heard of such an one, 
that unhappy possessor of the fatal gift was in- 
stantly banished. 

You can easily understand that no princess could 
do such things and still keep her popularity. 

A feeling of dissatisfaction worked its way 
amongst the masses of the people, little by little, 
and bit by bit. 

Things went on the same at the palace, though 
the Princess, who had been so lovable at one time, 
became more given up to vanity every day. She 
was still generous and kind, but in return for what 
she gave she wanted endless pretty flattering 
speeches. Most of her hours were now spent in a 
mirrored room, with the ladies who attended her 
close by, to repeat to her the compliments she de- 
lighted in. 

It happened on a day that one of the ladies-in- 
waiting chanced, while taking a little bite of toffee, 
to chip a corner off one of her teeth — a front tooth, 
too — and she fell to making a great moan about it. 

“Why, Lady Isobell!” exclaimed the rest, “you 
should not mind. You should be glad it w r as not 
the tooth of our adorable Princess !” 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 


59 


“True!” sighed Lady Isobell, “I would not have 
such a calamity happen to one of her exquisite 
teeth for millions. Her teeth are pearls, perfect 
pearls !” 

“Do you really think so, dear Lady Isobell?” 
asked the Princess, smiling. 

“Indeed, yes!” all the ladies chimed in together. 
“Never were there more wonderful pearls than 
the rows behind your Royal Highness’s pink coral 
lips!” 

“Well!” said the Princess, happily, “I am but 
mortal, and bethink me it would be well to call the 
court dentist to see that there is no flaw in any one 
of them.” 

They all protested that no flaw could be imagined, 
but the Princess insisted, and the court dentist was 
called. 

It must be confessed he was not overjoyed at the 
summons, for it is an unpleasant thing to have to 
hurt a Princess, and there was a chance of it. 
Therefore, most reluctantly, he packed up his 
buzzers and borers, and betook himself to the Royal 
presence. 

All was in readiness to receive him, and putting 
a powerful eyeglass in his best eye, he turned it 
down upon the lovely mouth of the Princess. 

Never before had he seen such a double row of 
teeth! Never such pink lips. All at once he gave 


60 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


an exclamation, and the eyeglass fell from his eye. 

The Princess sat up in astonishment ; the ladies- 
in-waiting drew closer in alarm. 

“Whatever is the matter?” questioned Her Royal 
Highness, impatiently. “Are my teeth cracked, 
or crooked, or what?” 

“Oh, don’t keep us in suspense!” cried all the 
others wildly. 

“A thousand pardons, your Highness,” stam- 
mered the dentist; “but they are not teeth at all; 
they are pearls! They are pearls!” 

“Pearls?” they all cried, while the Princess 
gasped. 

“Yes, real pearls, and your lips — ” 

“Go on! Go on! Tell me quickly — my lips 
— ?” she broke in, her eyes wild and frightened. 

“Your lips are fast becoming of a substance like 
coral — if they are not coral now,” he answered in a 
trembling voice, his knees quaking beneath him. 

At this the Princess fell back in a dead faint, 
and most of the ladies instantly followed her ex- 
ample. The others conquered their feelings, and 
did the best they could to revive the Princess with 
smelling-salts and burnt feathers; while, in the 
confusion, the dentist fled to his own quarters. 

Things somewhat settled down by the next day ; 
and, indeed, by the end of a week the Princess was 
not sure that she was not rather better pleased to 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 61 

have them as they were. Of course, she found as 
her lips grew more and more corally, that changing 
their expression grew somewhat difficult, so she just 
settled them into a little smile, and let them stay 
there, that was all. 

As for teeth of pearl, they were quite as pleasant 
to have as the other kind, and seemed eminently 
fitting for one of the Blood Royal. 

A few days after this, however, when the Prin- 
cess was having her shining yellow hair brushed 
out and sun-bathed, another thing happened. One 
of the maids suddenly discovered that it was not 
hair she was drawing the ivory brush through, but 
that each wonderful, w T avy, golden thread was in- 
deed made of the precious, glittering metal itself, 
the gold from which was wrought the coin of the 
realm! 

The King and Queen lamented greatly at this, 
and trembled in secret fear, for they realized that 
now the long- forgotten fairy spell was working 
its way towards some mysterious end. But the 
Princess did not seem to mind. She was even more 
beautiful than ever — more interesting, more entirely 
different from other people; so, in her opinion, 
there was nothing to worry about. 

She was growing quite used to the weight of her 
glistening tresses, when, suddenly as before, an- 
other change came ; this time an alarming one. A 


62 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


dimness came over the sight of her eyes, and when 
the wise Court physician examined them, he found, 
alas! and alas! that they were rapidly turning to 
the stone so deeply, darkly, beautifully blue that 
they had long resembled and been likened to. 
Very shortly, in the lovely pink and white face of 
the Princess, two great sapphires flashed and shone, 
and she saw no light of the sun, or the moon, or stars 
any more, but was in the dark always. No little 
flickering candle flame passed before those strange 
eyes could make them wink, and no tears fell from 
them — no, not a single tear. 

Then the King and Queen wept night and day, 
and they sent messengers to the fairies, imploring 
them to come back and take away the dreadful 
spell; but no fairies came. 

Still, after a while the Princess began to take 
comfort out of the thought that she was still beauti- 
ful and more unusual than ever. 

She wore her most elaborate dresses every day, 
and all her jewels, and every evening there was a 
ball held in the palace, and she was led through the 
great ballroom, with her golden hair puffed and 
curled about her head, her sapphire eyes gleaming, 
and her pearl teeth shining behind her smiling 
coral lips. 

And it still seemed to give her delight and grati- 
fication to hear on every side that she was far and 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 


63 


away the most beautiful girl in the kingdom; as, 
indeed, she was, the rest of the beautiful ones hav- 
ing been banished. 

It troubled the King and Queen that not a single 
prince now came to ask the hand of their daughter 
in marriage. Hitherto they had been used to 
having them ride up to the palace gates by dozens. 
But now the Royal riddle-maker, who was there to 
meet them and ask them a riddle — which, being 
answered correctly, allowed them to pass in — had 
simply nothing to do. It could only be supposed, 
therefore, that princes, being much like other 
people, preferred princesses who were like other 
people too. 

About this time other troubles began to afflict 
the kingdom of Dazzledean. A war broke out, 
a bitter, civil war; and the people not wanting a 
ruler any longer, but wanting to rule themselves, 
and being tired of taxes and other unpleasant 
things, turned the King and Queen and the 
beautiful blind Princess out of their palace; drove 
them cruelly beyond the city walls, and locked the 
gates behind them. And it was a cold, windy, 
wet night. 

Never were there three more miserable, lonely, 
homesick people than these three, who now felt 
cold and hunger and loneliness for the first time. 

All their rich garments had been taken away 


64 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


from them, and they had been dressed in the com- 
mon, coarse, scratchy clothes of the common peo- 
ple. 

There was no one to help them find their way, 
no one to get them anything to eat, no one to put 
up an umbrella over them to keep off the pelting 
rain; and it wouldn’t have made things much 
better if there had been, for there wasn’t an um- 
brella. 

And, worse than all, there wasn’t anyone to tell 
the poor Princess how beautiful she was; for she 
was beautiful, even yet, though her hair fell wet 
and tangled about her like a yellow cloak, and 
the weight of it tired her out. You see, she 
wasn’t used to walking, especially over rough roads 
in the rain. Every courtier, every wise counselor, 
every lord and lady, every squire and dame, 
every little page, and all the palace people down 
to the smallest kitchen wench had just vanished 
away, as though they had never been, and the 
King said he couldn’t think where they had gone. 

On and on they went, the Queen and the 
Princess Emeralda sobbing and clinging to each 
other, and the King, though footsore and weary, 
trying to cheer them up. 

Here and there along the way they stopped and 
asked for help, but the people knew who they were, 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 65 

and said that they didn’t want any more of kings 
or queens or princesses. 

So they hurried on. There were village shops 
on the road, long distances apart, and they would 
have stopped and bought food, but all their money 
had been taken away and locked up, and they had 
not a penny. 

After a very, very long time, though, they came 
to a new country that they had never seen before. 
It was happiness to find that nobody knew them, 
and they were most careful indeed not to say that 
they were a Royal family. 

Now, with having slept out of doors in all 
weather, having been hungry so long, and tired and 
travel-stained, the Princess appeared to have for- 
gotten all about how beautiful she was. She not 
only remembered that she was poor, and miserable, 
and blind, but that she was younger and stronger 
than her father and mother, and, therefore, ought 
to help them. 

As they walked through the unfamiliar streets 
she wondered and wondered what she could do; 
and then all at once an idea came into her mind — 
such a splendid, unexpected, original ideal She 
clapped her hands and laughed, just as she used to 
when she was a gay little girl in the palace in Daz- 
zledean. 


66 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The forlorn King and Queen stopped in terror 
and amazement to hear her laugh, for they thought 
that now the greatest and last trouble of all had 
come to them, and that the Princess had gone per- 
fectly crazy. 

“Whatever is the matter, my love?” exclaimed 
the Queen ; and “Be calm ! Be calm !” chimed in the 
King, patting his daughter on the shoulder. 

“Don’t laugh, my dear; only people that are in- 
sane laugh when they are as miserable as we are,” 
he said. 

“But I have thought of something so delightful!” 
cried the Princess. “We need not be cold and 
hungry to-night, anyway!” 

“Well, we have no friends or money,” said her 
father, shaking his head sadly. 

“No,” she answered, “but there is my hair, you 
know!” 

“Your hair?” His Majesty gasped, thinking that 
now at last she really was out of her mind. “Your 
hair?” 

And, “Your hair?” the Queen repeated, joining 
in weakly; “your beautiful, beautiful hair!” 

“Why, yes, dear mother and daddy,” she an- 
swered. “It is gold, real gold — the kind money is 
made of! Now, don’t you see?” 

And when they did, they didn’t know whether 
to be glad or sorry. 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 67 

“But you will have to cut it off,” the Queen said 
tearfully. “Oh! Emeralda Rubyona, how can I 
ever let you?” 

And the King insisted that he would break stones 
by the roadside first. 

Still, it was getting late; the wind was straight 
from the east, and something was falling that was 
not exactly snow or rain or hail, but was a mixture 
of all three, and extremely unpleasant. 

With it all, the Princess had hard work to per- 
suade her parents to allow her to cut off her shining 
hair, but in the end, they were so hungry and wet, 
they consented. After much debating, they de- 
cided to go to the mint, where the money was coined, 
and exchange the golden hair for golden pounds. 

So, borrowing a pair of scissors at a cottage that 
was just at the edge of a big city they had come to, 
the Princess merrily snipped off one long, heavy 
curl after another, and gave them to her mother 
(who was crying as hard as she could) to tie up into 
a bundle. Then, putting her hat on her short, wavy 
locks, she started down the road with her parents, 
each leading her by a hand, to find the mint. 

But a wonderful thing was happening to the 
Princess just then, as she walked along in the sleet 
and wind. It seemed that she saw the road, and 
the wayside trees and houses, like wavering shadows. 
Plainer and plainer they grew, till at last she felt 


68 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


sure that it was no dream, but that she really saw 
again, and that her sapphire eyes were once more 
just everyday blue eyes with ordinary black lashes, 
eyes one could wink with, and have the comfort of 
crying with — just eyes like other people’s. 

With this, she clapped her hands and laughed, 
and then cried for joy, and laughed again, till the 
poor King and Queen were more bewildered than 
ever. But when she was able to tell them what had 
happened, they, too, were wild with delight, and 
they all three stepped on along their way as lightly 
as though they walked on rose-leaves, instead of 
cobble-stones; and they forgot the wind that blew 
through their “looped and windowed raggedness,” 
because the hearts within them were so happy. 

Well, after a while, they came to the mint, and 
you can’t imagine how amazed the men who made 
the gold into sovereigns were, when they saw the 
bundle of golden hair the Princess wanted to sell 
them. (Of course, she didn’t tell them who she 
was, though.) 

They got out their scales and weighed the curls, 
and found there were several pounds of them, and 
I really don’t know just how many sovereigns they 
gave the Princess for them, but it was a very great 
many. 

Then the Princess divided the money into two 
lots, and gave one lot to Her Majesty the Queen, 


THE JEWELED PRINCESS 


69 


and the other to His Majesty the King, and she 
only kept one lucky piece that had a hole in it for 
herself, partly because it was a lucky piece, and 
partly (rather more partly, in fact) because she 
liked the picture of the Prince that was stamped 
on one side of it. 

They bid good-by to the men at the mint, who 
were dazed by the beauty of the Princess ( she was 
just the same as ever), by the wonderful golden 
hair, and by the grand manner of the King and 
Queen, for kings and queens are just the same, too, 
whether they are dressed in common clothes or 
robes of uncommon gorgeousness. 

After this, the Royal couple and the Princess 
bought a little country house with a little garden, 
and chickens and ducks, and other delightful things, 
and they kept a little rosy-cheeked maid to help 
them, and they lived happily — and that is the end. 
Well, not quite the very end, because the Prince 
whose picture was stamped upon the golden sover- 
eign with the hole in it (the lucky piece the Princess 
had kept) happened to drop in at the mint the next 
day after the Princess had been there, and he 
chanced to see the curls of gold as the men were 
about to melt them down. While no one could 
have called him an exceptionally inquisitive prince, 
still, he had curiosity enough to ask how they had 
come by them. After he had heard, he did not rest 


70 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


day or night until he knew where the Princess was. 

Naturally, he thought that any person with hair 
like that must be very much worth seeing — so he 
rode up to the little garden gate of the little cottage 
on his grandest, prancing charger, and, as it was 
open, he went in, for there was no Royal riddle- 
maker to ask him riddles he couldn’t answer. 

This is the real end of the story, and the way all 
stories ought to end; and so “the Prince found the 
Princess.” 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


It was old Betty of the flower market who told 
me this story. Old Betty with her crinkly white 
hair, and her winter-apple face ; her red Connemara 
cloak and cap with the flappidy white ruffles. 

Betty said it was her grannie she got the story 
from; and her grannie got it from her grannie, and 
so on back and back to the very King and rose it 
is all about. He was an Irish King Betty said. 
For there were kings in Ireland in those days and 
fairies and gray elves and little people who had no 
name, but lived under the black thorn bushes, 
mostly. 

I asked Betty if the King in the story was Brian 
Borue. This seemed to worry her a little so I 
hastily withdrew the question and said it did not 
matter. But she said, “Sure and it does matther, 
mavourneen, an’ it might have been Brian — I 
dunno. It was just one of them annyway that 
lived in them ould grand days whin there was 
fairies around thick as daisies in the grass — fer 
those that had eyes to see them — ay, fairies, an’ 
warlocks an’ little green min an’ the rest av them. 
An’ the things happened as I’m telling ye — though 

71 


72 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


it ain’t jest asy to give names an’ dates. So kape 
whist an’ listen — or I’ll be tellin’ ye no more!” 

And this is the story, though I couldn’t write in 
the beautiful brogue of old Betty, nor put in her 
“nods and becks and wreathed smiles” as the tale 
unwound bit by bit — business allowing — there un- 
der her big umbrella beside her flower-stall in the 
market. 

Part I 

Now there are three kinds of fairies — according 
to old Betty — just as there are three kinds of 
people. 

Firstly — those who are almost perfectly good. 
Secondly — those who are almost quite bad; and 
thirdly — those who are like “the little girl who had 
the little curl” and possess characters composed of 
a fascinating mixture of good and bad. 

The fairy princess, Jewelette, of Betty’s story, 
was like that little girl. Sometimes she was good 
and sometimes she was horrid. 

The fairy king, her father, and the fairy queen, 
her mother, never admitted that she had been 
spoiled by their own over-indulgence to her whims 
and their doting admiration ; they simply said that 
she was made that way. 

But in their hearts they were often troubled over 
the princess, for they themselves were in the almost 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 73 

perfect class, and would fain have had her there 
also. 

To them a sense of duty was not, as O. Henry 
says, “that dull, leaden, soul-depressing sensation 
it is to so many of us.” Far from it. To this fairy 
king and queen it was an uplifting and exhilarating 
feeling, and they always joyously hastened to per- 
form whatever it dictated — unless it happened to 
suggest that they correct the princess. 

With their little daughter, however, a sense of 
duty did not seem to count at all. 

While she did the things she liked to do with de- 
lightful zest and eagerness — no matter how diffi- 
cult they might be, — the things she did not like to 
do she simply didn’t do, to the consternation of all 
and sundry. 

Yet even fairies have to learn to do the thou- 
sand and one things that fairies alone can do. 
They do not arrive in fairy-land a finished product 
of knowledge and attainment. Even there there 
is no royal road to learning. The royal roads are 
all left to the bees, and butterflies, and beetles, and 
their like, whom God has gifted in some mysteri- 
ous way, so they are able to perform the tasks set 
them just as well the day they come as the day 
they go. For the bees make honey now as they 
made it in the days of Job. They apparently have 
added nothing to their knowledge; and the butter- 


74 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


flies and beetles and their brethren, the ants, do the 
very same things over and over in the very same old 
way they did them in the Garden of Eden. It is 
as if they had attained perfection too soon, and too 
easily. So, all things considered, both fairies and 
people should be content to leave the royal roads 
to them, and continue to struggle happily along the 
upward paths that lead to the new and beautiful. 

One way and another the princess Jewelette man- 
aged to learn a good many things, yet she grew up 
at her father’s court like a wild rose “set round with 
little willful thorns.” 

She was so lovely to look at, and so merry withal 
— when things went right — that the fairies of every 
rank and age were attracted to her as flowers to the 
sun. But her moods were variable as the wind — her 
temper set aflame with a word, and to be near her 
was like being out in April weather, one hour might 
be sunny, and on the next none could say where 
the lightning would strike or the rain fall. 

The fairy folk far and near gossiped about the 
future of the princess Jewelette and agreed that 
the king and queen were to blame for having 
spoiled her originally sweet nature. 

With her, to wish for was to have, and that is 
the best receipt in the universe, the fairies said, to 
create a selfish spirit. 

And the little princess was selfish, horribly 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


75 


selfish, as well as imperious and haughty at times. 

She desired the best of everything for herself, 
first and last. As a rule this was conceded to her 
naturally, and then all was merry as a May-day. 
But on those occasions when she was expected to 
take second-best — whatever form that second-best 
happened to take — she would turn suddenly into 
a little fury, and vent her rage on the unoffending 
fairies nearest at hand. 

These deplorable outbursts of temper, roused 
often by some trivial cause, — such as gaining only 
second prize in a game or having to give up her 
place near the throne to some royal visitor and 
things of that kind, — were most upsetting to the 
peace-loving courtiers, and they made way more 
and more for her, and tried to smooth out all the 
crumpled rose-leaves that lay in her path. 

Now, when they all played games in the fairy 
ring, the little princess was always proclaimed win- 
ner. No one’s rose-berry ball ever came through 
the last bent grass hoop and hit the tall mullein 
stalk, in their games of croquet, before her rose- 
berry ball. No fairy ever swam round the moon- 
lit lily-pond and caught the tame silver-fish, until 
she had accomplished this feat. No one ever found 
the green and gold elf — who was so like in color 
to the green and gold mustard plants he could hide 
among them for hours — until the princess had 


76 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


found him, though all knew the elf helped her by 
joggling the plant he was under. 

No, it was not in a few things the princess 
Jewelette wanted to come first, it was in every- 
thing. 

It is not easy to be the most alluring, the most 
clever, the most accomplished, the most beautiful 
and the most all-round successful person at any 
court, but little by little all these advantages were 
conceded to the princess as by general consent, and 
therefore things ran smoothly except on rare oc- 
casions when some fairy, whose spirit was not equal 
to the strain, ventured a protest. 

For in the hearts of them all resentment burned 
hotly. They longed to occasionally beat the prin- 
cess at some of their games. They desired greatly 
to sometimes say something brighter than she did, 
or to out-distance her in one or another of their 
sports. But they put out these inward fires as best 
they could. In the case of the fairy maids-of- 
honor they were extinguished usually with floods 
of tears shed in private. 

Still their policy did not change, for it brought 
the greatest good to the greatest number; so they 
outwardly maintained that no one in all the world 
could at any time or at any place, or in any way, 
surpass their own princess Jewelette. This she 
perfectly agreed to, and everything was lovely. 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


77 


But the king and queen were no longer happy. 
With keen insight, they saw that while all the 
court and the fairies throughout their kingdom gave 
every homage to their child, in their hearts they 
did not give her love. 

And so, though she got all else out of life that 
seemed worth having, she missed its very essence 
of joy. 

It was not hard to catch the fleeting expression 
in the eyes of the little maids-of -honor, when the 
princess was particularly selfish; nor the half -con- 
cealed smiles on the lips of the courtiers when she 
was unbearably imperious. None of these things 
escaped the king and queen any longer, and they 
were deeply grieved by them. 

Now in this country lived a very, very old fairy 
who was godmother to the princess Jewelette. 
Wise was this old fairy and of vast experience in 
the ways of her own folk, and also of mortals. 

She had almost reached the age when she would 
be made over into something new, for that is what 
happens to fairies as well as people, old Betty 
said. As this fairy had been kind and good dur- 
ing her length of sunny days and moonlit nights, 
she hoped she would be made over into a mortal; 
even if she were only to be a perfectly new 
fairy again, with shining wings and a strong light 
little body, and a rose-tinted radiant face, she felt 


78 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


she would be content. But to be a fairy and to be 
old, does not seem consistent — and the princess 
Jewelette’s godmother was growing tired of it. 

So she sent her messenger, a gray elf, to the 
court of the king and queen, and he told them 
she was coming to see them, and divide between 
them, and some odds and ends of acquaintances 
and distant relations, the jewels she had gathered 
together in her long life. For even fairies cannot 
take jewels across the border of one life, and into 
another. 

The royal pair listened to the gray elf with 
sorrowful faces, for they loved the ancient fairy 
and were not anxious to have her changed or made 
over in any way. 

The little princess listened to the gray elf also, 
but her face was not sorrowful. It was only 
gravely attentive. 

“Are you not grieved, my daughter,” said His 
Majesty, “that your noble godmother feels the 
time is near when she will depart from us, only to 
return in some form we, perchance, may not 
recognize?” 

The princess Jewelette looked up with un- 
shadowed eyes. 

“Indeed, my father,” she replied softly, “I think 
she is very old and tired. She does not care to 
dance in the green rings, and it is a long time 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


79 


since she floated across the lily pond. Now she 
only dips in the water at the edge, and then her 
attendants wrap her about closely and carry her 
away. I do not think she flies any more over the 
golden mustard fields, — they dazzle her eyes. All 
the color and strength have gone from her wings, 
and they are no longer lovely to look at. I think 
she is very old and tired, my father.” 

“That is true,” said the king. “But what then? 
Are there not many to wait upon her and do her 
bidding? Where is there another with her wisdom 
and knowledge, both of our land and the land of 
mortals? Where another so patient and gentle 
withal? The older she grows, the sweeter she be- 
comes to my mind, and in her lovely eyes is the 
light that time cannot dim. There is much that 
you might learn of her, my little daughter, before 
you wed some gallant prince and leave us.” 

“She is very old,” repeated the princess again. 
“What is there left for her to enjoy? I can think 
of nothing.” 

The king turned to the queen with a swift 
glance. Their eyes met and she answered his look. 

“There is Love,” he said. The princess smiled 
absently, as not noticing any rebuke. 

“To me it only seems wondrous sad to be so 
ancient,” she remarked with a little sigh. 

“Perad venture it would be, my dear, if one re- 


80 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


mained forever so,” said her mother. “But with 
the God-of-All-Things there is no old age. There 
is only change. It is so great a mystery, this law of 
change; but it is a law for all alike. Yet in our 
own hearts is the power to make all change beauti- 
ful.” 

The little princess threw out her hands in protest. 

“I do not understand a word you say, mother 
mine!” she exclaimed. “Nor do I want to change 
in face or form or heart! If you loved me, you 
would not speak of such things.” Running to the 
queen, she lifted her lovely face to be kissed — 
though she frowned as might a spoiled child. 

The queen caressed her and sighed. 

“You are too young, methinks, to understand,” 
she murmured. “Indeed we would not desire you 
otherwise in face or form — only — only — ” 

“Only what?” questioned the princess, quite 
radiant again. 

“Only sometimes we would have you a trifle 
kinder, sweetheart, or more thoughtful of others,” 
her mother answered. “But look! Look! Yon- 
der comes your godmother and her attendants! 
Truly she is very feeble, — so hasten to meet her, my 
child! Hasten!” 

The princess clapped her hands. “See, mother 
mine,” she cried. “Oh, see the dear gray elves bear- 
ing the jewel-box! I know it well. I think my 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


81 


godmother will divide her jewels to-day or the gray 
elves would not have brought them. I long to 
see them — the wonderful, wonderful jewels!” 

Fluttering her silvery wings, the little princess 
flew across the garden. 

Her godmother walked totteringly and by the 
aid of a tall ebony cane. Now and again she 
paused and leaned on it when her little court of 
attendants awaited her pleasure. 

They were all afoot, having left their coaches 
harnessed to green grasshoppers, without the gar- 
den wall. 

The ancient fairy wore a short quilted petticoat 
and a scarlet cloak beneath which were folded her 
weary wings. Upon her head was a white ruffled 
cap, and upon that a high black steeple hat. 

Most of her following were gray elves and they 
too looked old as gray warped twigs or the lichen 
on weather-beaten trees. 

Six of them carried a black box studded with 
silver nails, and the weight of it bore them down. 

The little princess alighted beside her godmother 
and caught her face, that was like old carven ivory, 
between her two soft young hands. 

“Dear godmother,” she exclaimed. “Now this 
is kind! But you are very tired — you should not 
have made this effort to come and see us! We 
could have gone to you so easily.” 


82 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“True,” said the ancient one, shaking her head. 
“But you do not often come, my dear, and I could 
not wait longer. I near my end. The end of all 
this — ” she finished vaguely, lifting her ebony 
cane and sweeping it around with a trembling arm. 
“So at last I said I would come myself and see you, 
and also divide my jewels amongst those here who 
are dear to me.” 

The gray elves tugged at the black box and the 
little princess helped the ancient fairy onward. 
The king and queen came now to meet them, and 
all stopped beneath the shadow of a great tree. 

Queer green twisted chairs were scattered about. 
A sun-dial stood near pointing its finger eternally 
to the hours, and a fountain sent its rainbow spray 
high into the blue air. Below the terraced gar- 
den a lake sparkled as sharply as beaten silver 
in the late afternoon sun, and seven black swans 
swam slowly around it, and then slowly around 
again. 

The ancient one w^as given the seat of honor be- 
neath the shadowy tree, and the king and queen, 
the princess Jewelette and all the fairies of the 
court, gathered near her, while the gray elves sat 
cross-legged on the grass and watched, — which is 
what the gray elves always do when there is any- 
thing to watch. 

After all had been served with nectar and am- 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


83 


brosia — and honey and little white rolls, and when 
all the pleasant gossip of the court had been talked 
over, the ancient one lifted her ebony stick and 
beckoned to the gray elves who guarded the black 
box. 

“Bring hither my treasure-chest!” she com- 
manded in her quavering voice. “Bring it hither, 
and undo the lock. Prithee — be nimble!” 

The gray elves did her bidding swiftly and the 
black cover of the silver-studded box was lifted. 

All the fairies, even the king and queen and 
princess Jewelette, gave little cries of wonder and 
delight, for it was as if the sunbeams and moon- 
beams and dew-drops of a thousand years had been 
imprisoned in the black box and crystallized there 
into jems of flawless beauty. 

And there were pearls that only fairies of the 
sea can find — pearls tinted like the white mist of 
dawn when the sun first shines through it, — and 
there were opals iridescent and mysterious — the 
wonder stones of the world. But strangest of all 
the jewels was a string of moonstones that wound 
in and out among the others, gleaming softly as 
moonlight on snow. For well they all knew that 
this string of moonstones held a magic none of the 
other jewels possessed, and brought to its wearer 
a charm which drew all hearts to her. Otherwise 
the necklace was of little value, for moonstones may 


84 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


be picked up on the tropical seashore on any quiet 
night. 

The ancient one lifted the jewels out, each lovely 
ornament by itself, and placed them upon a low 
table by her side. At last only the string of moon- 
stones remained in the bottom of the box alone. 
There it shone faintly as though it were overlooked 
and forgotten. 

The little princess gave one swift glance at the 
jewel-laden table, then turned and gazed down into 
the black box, the pink coming and going in her 
bewitching face, and her blue eyes growing dark 
as purple pansies. 

After that one swift glance, she did not look 
at the table again, — though none seemed to notice 
this. 

With trembling hands her godmother arranged 
the jewels to her liking, while all the court watched 
in silence. 

“My dear ones,” she said at last, “the time has 
come for me to set my affairs in order, for soon — 
very soon — I depart. Only the God-of-All-Things 
knows whither I go, or how I shall return. 
These,” her old hands fluttering toward the gems, 
“I will need no more. Therefore it is my pleasure 
to divide them amongst those I love.” 

“First, O beloved queen — take what you desire 
from those here beside me. Then His Royal 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


85 


Highness is to choose, then my god-daughter ; all 
the maids-of-honor are my friends, they’ are to 
choose next. — Ay! All are to choose what they 
will except the Lady Mayblossom whose grand- 
mother was my dearest friend. For her I have 
chosen my own gift,” 

The Lady Mayblossom, who was sweet as her 
name, crossed the lawn and stood beside the ancient 
one. Her eyes were misty with tears, for she 
dearly loved the fairy godmother. 

A little tremor of expectancy now ran through 
the waiting group, and the gray elves who sat 
cross-legged on the grass and watched, bent for- 
ward, pricked up their pointed ears, and listened 
also. But they made no sound, for the gray elves 
are dumb. 

“Approach, dear queen,” quavered the ancient 
one, “and take what you will from among my 
jewels!” 

The queen stepped softly forward, bent her head 
and kissed the faded face of the old fairy. 

“Why,” she said, “an you desire to have it, 
I will, dear godmother — though it hurts my heart 
to do so. Indeed, and truly, I will love whatever 
you give me in that it has belonged to you — and I 
will guard it well.” Then lightly, and as though 
the choice were of small moment, she chose a collar 
of pearls, and bowing again, withdrew. 


86 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The king then came forward smiling as though 
he would humor the fairy godmother in her whim. 

From the table he took a ring of chased gold. 
It was heavy and unlovely, but it was a wishing- 
ring, and the king remembered hearing that one 
wish still remained within its magic power. 

The ancient one smiled back at him, then slipped 
the ring on his finger herself. 

“Wish wisely, dear friend!” she counseled. 
“Seven wishes had the ring to give, and six are 
gone. Not one has brought joy. Look you. I 
also still wear upon this palsied hand a wishing- 
ring given me long ago. He who gave it bade me 
not to part with it. Three wishes has it had to 
give. Two have I used, and they have brought me 
naught but grief. The third remains, but alas! I 
fear to use it. Therefore with the ring you have 
chosen, wish wisely; dear friend. Wish wisely!” 

The fairy king laughed, and bent to kiss her 
hand. 

“Peradventure I too shall fear to wish,” he said. 
“But should I brave it out, I will remember your 
words, O kind one !” 

Then the little princess drew near, her starry 
eyes shining, and her face dimpling with smiles. 

“Choose, my love!” said her godmother. “The 
most beautiful of my jewels are still here.” 

The princess caught her breath quickly and 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


87 


clasped her hands together. She glanced once 
again at the glittering array on the table, then 
turned to* the open black box at the ancient one’s 
feet, and without hesitation pointed into it with one 
rosy finger. 

“I would have the string of moonstones, dear 
godmother,” she said. 

The old fairy rose from her chair slowly and 
steadied herself by the ebony cane. Her face 
changed from its tender serenity to a sternness 
that became terrifying. 

“Perchance I did not hear aright,” she answered 
after a moment’s silence. “But if so, then hark 
ye! The moonstones are not for you, my child. 
Choose from the gems upon the table!” 

The little princess opened her pansy dark eyes 
in wide astonishment, and drew herself up to her 
full height, with a certain gesture of disdain the 
fairy people of the court knew well. 

“Not for me, dear godmother!” she replied with 
cold gentleness. “Then this being so, I decline 
your other jewels. But I pray you answer me of 
your graciousness ; do you yourself wear the 
necklace of moonstones into that new country of 
change whither you journey soon?” 

“Nay, verily!” returned the ancient one. “To 
fairy-land we come without jewels, and we leave it 
without them.” 


88 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The princess nodded assent, and her face lost its 
color and grew white as snow. 

“Then I implore you — give me the moonstones/’ 
she requested softly. 

Her godmother leaned towards her, her hands 
folded on the crotch of the ebony cane. 

“Little princess/’ she said, “of all my gems, I 
love the moonstones best, though they are of small 
worth save for the charm they bear. Also, of all 
my friends I loved best the grandmother of the 
Lady Mayblossom. For this reason— and others 
I care not to explain — I give the string of moon- 
stones to the Lady Mayblossom.” 

Bending down, she lifted the necklace from the 
black box, and turning to the maid-of -honor who 
stood beside her, frightened, and as though ready 
to fly, the old fairy reached up and clasped the 
moonstones around her soft young throat. 

The princess gazed as one not believing the evi- 
dence of her own senses. 

The king and queen waited in tense silence. The 
fairies of the court stood poised as for flight; the 
gray elves sat cross-legged, all eyes, and ears, and 
eagerness. 

Even the very birds stopped singing and the 
leaves of the great tree overhead hung motionless. 

Then — as in a flash — the princess caught the 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


89 


necklace of moonstones from the Lady Mayblos- 
som’s throat, threw it on the grass, and stamped her 
foot upon it, once ! twice ! thrice ! The jewels crum- 
bled or w r ere crushed into the earth. Seeing them 
so, the princess laughed softly, but defiantly, and in 
the silence that followed, her words fell on the air 
without a tremor. 

“So! So!” she said. “It is so I shall do to those 
who cross my will!” 

The fairy queen covered her eyes with her hands. 
The king stood in silence, his face hardening. The 
little court fairies still were poised for flight — yet 
did not fly, and the gray elves sat cross-legged and 
watched, their goggle eyes staring wildly; and as 
they watched and listened, they shook like autumn 
leaves in the wind. 

The Lady Mayblossom alone turned and fled. 

The princess still stood, her foot upon the jewels, 
and the ancient fairy, leaning on the ebony cane, 
gazed at her fixedly. 

Then she spoke, and her voice had lost its quaver- 
ing tone and sounded young and strong again; 
while her eyes that had never grown old, shone 
bright in her old, old face. Slowly she lifted the 
ebony cane. 

“Move not!” she commanded. “Move not — 
anyone — except my gray elves! Go you, O gray 


90 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


elves, and bring hence a rose-plant that grows m a 
golden pot by the south gate of this garden. Bring 
it hither with care. Go ! Be nimble !” 

The six gray elves departed swiftly, and as 
swiftly returned. They bore a golden pot from 
which grew one tall rose-plant and they placed the 
pot at the ancient one’s feet. Green was the rose- 
bush with many leaves, but no rose or bud grew 
upon it. 

The ancient fairy glanced at the waiting court. 

“Harken ye all!” she said in that ringing voice. 
“You have seen what you have seen, and heard 
what you have heard. See and hear further. 
One and all you know that again the princess 
Jewelette has shown that her heart was to-day 
dominated by love of self — and love of self only. 
Now Love we must all have in some form. 

“Through love of others we grow to be like the 
God-of-All-Things. Through love of self we 
grow to be unlike Him. That, my children, is to 
change little by little to what is evil. 

“So little by little your princess is losing from 
her heart all love but that of self. Yet Hope is 
not yet gone. I would save her, my children, and 
to save her she must be made to suffer; and she 
must learn to love another better than herself. 

“One wish remains in this old, old ring of mine. 
With it I will turn her into a rose. But it will be 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


91 


a rose enchanted. In the heart of it will be held a 
drop of magic perfume. The leaves around the 
golden heart of the rose will be folded so closely 
this perfume cannot escape unless the flower itself 
so wills; and while the perfume is held there, the 
rose will live on, and never fade. Should it let 
the magic essence sweeten the air — it will swiftly 
die. What may happen after, I know not; but 
in this matter I must not falter, but deal with 
her only for her spirit’s good.” 

Raising her ebony cane, the ancient fairy looked 
around the assembled group. No one had dared 
to move, or question her, yet fear whitened every 
face. 

The queen clung to the king’s arm, and the king 
was as immovable as though under a spell. The 
little court fairies seemed about to fly, yet did not; 
and the cross-legged gray elves gazed at the scene 
with unblinking goggle eyes. 

The princess alone stood as before, disdain and 
anger in every line of her face and figure. In the 
shadow of the great tree she still seemed enfolded 
by the afternoon light and color. 

Not for a moment had she thought of asking for 
pity, even if she believed her godmother would 
carry out her dire threat. She alone amongst them 
all looked quite unafraid. 

The ancient one paused as though waiting for 


92 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


some word of repentance or supplication — some 
littlest word. 

There was only a dread silence in all the king’s 
garden. 

Then slowly the black cane swung through the 
air — once — twice — three times. A sudden dark- 
ness fell, as though the sun had been snuffed out 
like a candle. 

A roll of thunder followed, and after that, 
slowly, slowly, the light came back. From a soft 
gray it grew into the radiance of afternoon. The 
birds were again singing in the garden, and a light 
wind ruffled the leaves. 

All the fairies stood as before on the green be- 
neath the great tree — all but the little princess 
Jewelette. She was no longer there, but on the 
rose-bush in the golden pot bloomed a marvelous 
rose, not yet quite blown ; a red, red, red rose of 
perfect beauty. 

The fairy queen slipped down to earth in a 
deadly faint, and they carried her away to the 
castle. The fairies, so long undetermined whether 
to go or stay, lifted their silvery wings and flew in 
every direction. The king stood, as still spell- 
bound, while the gray elves rose from the grass and 
clustered together. 

“Hither!” the ancient one called to them. 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


93 


“Hither, my good gray elves! Lock again my 
jewels in the black box! Take it and drop it into 
yonder lake where the water is deepest. Then re- 
turn. Be nimble! Be nimble !” 

They did her bidding and returned. 

“Hasten once more!” she said to them. 
“Hasten! Lift the golden pot wherein grows the 
rose-plant with its one blossom, and bear it to the 
garden of the great and lonely king who reigns 
over the first, and most troublesome kingdom of 
mortals, beyond the river bounding the land of 
fairies. Leave your burden within the stone wall 
of his garden close by the bridle path and near the 
great gate that opens to the high road.” 

As she spoke her voice changed, quavered, and 
grew old. Yet the king, listening, heard each word. 
He saw the gray elves lift the golden pot and fly 
away with it. Powerless to detain them, silent as 
though under a spell, he watched until they disap- 
peared in the blue of the air. 

The ancient fairy sank into her twisted green 
chair. Folding her withered hands on the crotch 
of her stick, she leaned her chin upon them. Her 
strangely young eyes gazed out over the king’s 
sunlit garden; gazed long and lovingly. Then 
she closed them. 

The king came close to her and called her by 


94 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


name. Again he called her, and his voice was 
shaken and very sad. When she did not answer 
he stooped and looked into her old, old face, and 
then he saw she had departed to the land where all 
things are made new. 

Part II 

Up and over the garden of the fairy king flew 
the six gray elves bearing between them the golden 
earth-filled pot from which grew the wonderful 
rose-bush. 

On and on they flew making signs now and then 
to each other, and gazing intently down on the 
country with their great goggle eyes in search of 
the land-marks that were to guide them. 

It was a long journey, but their gray .wings did 
not easily tire, and they were always faithful to the 
orders of their mistress. Now, though they were 
troubled and very sad, for each one of them had 
adored the little princess, even with all her will- 
ful ways and selfishness, they deeply regretted the 
magic that had in the twinkling of an eye turned 
her into a flower. 

Dumbly they communicated this to each other, 
and their eyes filled with tears when they rested 
for a moment on the exquisite red rose. 

It did not seem to them that the punishment 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


95 


fitted the fault for which it was given. If the 
princess J ewelette had desired the string of moon- 
stones, they thought she should have had them. It 
was for her to choose, and others to give up — to 
their way of thinking. 

Beautiful as the Lady Mayblossom was, she was 
| not to be compared to the fairy king’s little 
II daughter. She seemed made of snow and peach - 
k ! bloom, and her hair was like copper spun fine as 
cob-web. Always when the elves looked at the 
princess, this red-gold hair had dazzled them, and 
they — so devoid of color, so like the gray fog and 
the gray clouds, and the gray river-mist, that they 
could easily be lost in any one of them — wor- 
shiped her as long ago mortals worshiped the 
sun. 

Therefore they flew onward with something al- 
most like anger in their hearts. But they were 
good elves and struggled to overcome this feeling, 
knowing how just their ancient mistress had al- 
ways been. For long years she had given herself 
to deeds that brought only blessings to mortals and 
fairies and also little gray elves as well. 

Onward they flew until the sun rolled down be- 
hind the hills and into the sea. 

Then the river that divided the fairy country 
from that of mortals came in sight, gleaming across 
the twilight land like a silver embroidery. 


96 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


As the moon rose, they flew over this river, and 
now in the country of mortals, the King’s Palace 
and wide court garden appeared. The garden was 
walled by cemented stones of red and green and 
violet, and at intervals, stone dragons with faces 
set and fierce kept perpetual watch and ward upon 
it. In the moonlight these looked like living 
things, and the elves shuddered as they flew, for 
never before had they been beyond the river 
boundary. 

They flew with fast beating hearts to the great 
gates of the wall. Here the dragons set in the side 
pillars were more fearsome than any of the others, 
for their eyes were lit with red lights and their 
wings seemed lifted for flight. 

The gray elves looked about in dumb terror ; but 
the orders of their mistress were imperative, and 
the golden pot with the rose-bush must be set within 
the garden. 

With a last wild effort of strength and courage 
they darted over the wall, found the path and 
gently lowered their burden beside it. 

The light of the full moon touched the half- 
blown rose to almost unearthly beauty, and the 
golden pot shone against the grass as though the 
sun had left a spot of brightness there. 

The gray elves turned their big troubled eyes 
around the unfamiliar garden and then back to the 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


97 


rose-bush. It seemed to them dreadfully lonely in 
this unknown land. 

Yet they could not discover that it looked strange 
or out of place. No — it was just an ordinary rose- 
bush bearing a red blossom of unusual beauty, as 
far as anyone could see. Still their hearts misgave 
them, and they would gladly have carried the 
golden pot back the way they came. 

But they were still loyal to their old beloved mis- 
tress and knew they must leave the little lovely 
rose-princess to her fate. So one by one they 
climbed up the rose branches, for the gray elves 
are small and light in weight as moonbeams, though 
they are strong to lift and carry. One by one they 
reached up and touched the rose with their tiny 
pointed hands, gazing at it with dumb longing. 
They leaned their faces downward, then shook their 
heads to one another. “No!” “No!” There was 

no perfume. By signs they spoke to the rose and 
bade her hold the magic essence fast; never to let 
it escape at dawn — or dark, or in the light of the 
sun or moon, for that meant death. 

Passionately they warned her of this impending 
tragedy — this desperate peril! They tried also to 
comfort her by saying in pantomime that some day 
her godmother might send them ta bear her home 
again, and lift the enchantment that bound her. 
They strove to remind her of the wishing-ring her 


98 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


father the king had chosen; for though the ring 
had no power in the land of mortals unless used 
there, yet he might find his way across the boundary 
river. 

But alas, this thought gave them little hope, for 
although the fairies were permitted to enter many 
countries, to this one, only, the elves so far had 
found the road. 

The mortal king’s garden was sweet and still and 
scented by innumerable night-flowering trees. 
Here and there a bird made restless by the vivid 
moonlight sang a few sleepy notes. A fountain 
played ceaselessly, and the sound of the falling 
water was like a lullaby. 

The little elves would gladly have curled down 
under the rose leaves and gone to sleep, but the 
night was slipping away, they had performed their 
mission, and must return with word of its accom- 
plishment. 

With many sighs they lifted their gauzy wings 
and flew away toward the fairy country; so the 
rose-bush was left without friends in the wonder- 
ful garden. 

The wind before dawn blew over its green leaves 
and the red flower swayed back and forth. At 
earliest light a humming-bird darted around and 
around it as though seeking for some sweetness, and 
finding none. 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


99 


Then came the head gardener and looked the 
plant over as though puzzled. He examined it 
with minute care through his big horn-rimmed 
spectacles and shook his frosted head — for he was 
a very old gardener. 

“Where be thee come from?” he questioned, for 
he always talked to his flowers. 

“Where be thee come from, thou pretty thing? 
Art some gift-plant a lady ha’ sent His Majesty? 
Ay! Ay! that be likely,” he laughed softly. 
“Pretty thing — pretty thing,” he repeated, “there 
be no lady half as lovely as thee — else had my royal 
master wed long ago. None so lovely as thee I 
warrant — nor half so sweet.” Bending down he al- 
most touched the rose with his old wrinkled face; 
“nor half so sweet,” he said again dreamily. Then 
lifted his head and looked puzzled. “Why” — nod- 
ding — “why, bless me, pretty one, thou ’ast no scent! 
No scent at all — an I be keen to catch the scent o’ 
roses! What now — what now? — Hath a moth 
robbed thee, or one o’ those long-beaked hummers?” 
He rubbed his white head and ruminated, then went 
along with his basket of tools. 

“ ’Tis none o’ my affair,” he soliloquized. “I’ll 
let it be, gold pot an’ all. But a rose wi’out scent, 
she be not a rose, say I. She be not a rose. I 
would na ha’ such in my rose-garden. I must let 
be — let be, though. But give me a rose wid scent. 


100 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


say I, even if it be a common hedge-rose, or a cinna- 
mon bud, small as a button — ay! I’d sooner ha’ 
a road-side briar sweet-scented than yonder beauty. 
A rose without sweetness — she be like a woman 
wi’out love in her heart.-^-Ay ! Ay !” 

Muttering to himself, he went his way among the 
flower-beds. 

Sunlight flooded the garden at high noon and 
it was a place filled with life and music. Butter- 
flies hovered over the rose-bush — then left it. The 
bees hesitated on their flight near it, then passed by. 
A white moth touched it fleetingly; and none of 
these returned. 

Only the sunlight seemed to abide with it, — the 
sunlight common to all. 

By and by a group of courtiers strolling gayly 
past noticed the rose-plant in the golden pot, for 
no flowers had hitherto grown near the bridle path. 

“Heigh-ho!” sang out one young cavalier. “By 
St. Elizabeth, the lady of roses, in truth here is the 
pick of them all! His Majesty must be growing 
extravagant when he has his bushes potted in gold! 
Methinks I will clip the blossom — I know one 
could wear it most charmingly in her hair. A red 
rose ’gainst such raven hair, as I know of — well, 
’tis beyond words to paint the picture!” 

He touched the stem of the rose and was about 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 101 

to break it when one of the little court ladies stayed 
his arm. 

“N ay ! Do not pluck it, my lord !” she exclaimed 
warningly. “I have a presentiment that the king 
would not have it touched ! See ! It is a most rare 
blossom; and after all, it belongs to His Majesty.” 

The cavalier laughed. “Here’s a to-do!” he said. 
“What is one rose more or less, sweetheart ! Here 
to-day — gone to-morrow! ‘Gather ye roses while 
ye may,’ some poet hath said. The leaves of this 
one will be scattered on the bridle path ere two 
moonlit nights go by.” 

“Not so!” she answered. “It is but half -blown. 
’Twill live a week.” Then she leaned down to it. 
“Why, prithee,” she cried, “it hath no perfume! 
Now, my lord,” laughingly, “you will be content to 
leave it. There are a thousand scented blossoms 
growing in the rose-garden free for your taking.” 

He frowned and tweaked his small mustache. 
“I desire what I desire,” he said. “If I desire a 
scentless rose, ’tis my own affair. This is the one 
I would have, and I shall proceed to pluck it.” 

The little maid-of -honor spread out her brocade 
skirts and stood before the rose-bush. 

“Thou shalt not! Thou shalt not!” she cried 
defiantly. “ ’Tis the king’s rose and very specially 
set in this golden pot.” 


102 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 

“With all deference to you, dear lady,” he re- 
turned, bowing low, “I most certainly shall — - 
golden pot or no !” 

So saying, he swung her lightly to one side and 
caught the rose stem to break it, but one of the 
thorns went deeply into his thumb, and he shook 
his hand free angrily. 

The little maid laughed with much delight, and 
stepping again between him and the golden pot, 
danced lightly before it. 

“Little torment!” he muttered. “The mischief 
is in you, and a devil in this rose-bush! I have 
pierced my thumb to the quick, and will not be 
able to touch my guitar this evening. I gainsay 
the dastardly thorn hath run through a nerve, for 
it throbs to the elbow.” 

At this the maid-of-honor went into a perfect 
gale of merriment. “Alack! Alack!” she cried. 
“Call the court-surgeon! My Lord Harry hath 
stabbed himself with a rose-prickle!” So making 
merry at his expense, she caught her flowered 
gown over her arm and ran after the others, leav- 
ing the young cavalier to follow sullenly after. 

When the sound of their voices had died away 
the rose-bush was alone again. 

“Was it always to be so?” she thought. “Would 
everything pass by and leave her?” She longed 
even for the summer breeze to keep her company — 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


103 


to stir her crimson leaves, and sway the green bush 
of which she seemed to be a living part. For most 
strange of all, the princess Jewelette, though 
changed to a rose, in some magic way was still the 
little princess, and by a mystic power could see and 
hear and feel and think, even as she had at her 
father’s court. But she could express nothing; no 
power was given to let any know of the enchant- 
ment that had befallen her. 

Again and again in spirit she lived over the 
fatal hour in the garden, and traced each action 
that led up to the moment her godmother had so 
deliberately wrought her doom. Most horrible in- 
deed it seemed to her, and fear and loneliness took 
up their abode in her heart. 

Beautiful she knew she was as a rose; but only 
a rose, a thing plucked for anyone’s pleasure, 
perchance, or to be torn by the wind and beaten 
by the rain as must surely follow should she out- 
last the summer. She shuddered as she pictured 
her fate. 

Then slowly the bahn of memory came to her. 
Her godmother had promised that while the magic 
perfume was held in her golden heart, she would 
not die. Some small comfort crept through her. 
Little by little the trembling that shook her red 
leaves ceased. 

“But to what end should she live?” she ques- 


104 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


tioned. “Everyone and everything passed by. 
One rose in a great garden. Who would care if it 
lived or died? And a rose without perfume was a 
disappointment. None would desire it except for a 
whim, as the young cavalier had. The bees and 
butterflies and humming-birds would all leave it 
untouched.” 

No man or maid would give it a second thought 
once they had discovered it was scentless. The old 
gardener had been right. It was better to be a 
common hedge-rose that smelled sweet or a high- 
way briar that perfumed the air for tired travelers. 

True, there was the perfume locked under her 
curled leaves — but that she must hold fast. Death 
followed if she set it free. Her godmother had 
said so. The gray elves knew, and they had 
warned her. She must hold the perfume very fast. 
If none plucked her from the stem, and the wind 
and rain did not loosen her crimson leaves — perhaps 
— perhaps, she thought, the king her father would 
come with his wondrous wishing-ring that could 
turn her back into her own beautiful self! With 
the desperation of despair she clung to this thought. 
Then came another; she remembered that none of 
her people had ever, ever found their way across the 
boundary river to this country. To other coun- 
tries they had often gone — but they had been 
warned not to cross the river to this one. 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


105 


Black grief filled her heart. There was no way 
out of it all, she thought, — no way, no way. 
Memories of her willfulness, her unutterable selfish- 
ness, her constant haughtiness, haunted her as out 
of a mist of pain. This was indeed punishment for 
all her selfish deeds; but a punishment greater, it 
seemed, than she could bear. 

At last one thought only dominated her and it 
was that she must hide and cling to the magic per- 
fume or she would die. For if she lived on help 
might come. Her father would not forget — and 
the gray elves would entreat her fairy godmother to 
break the spell of enchantment. 

Mortals she did not fear so greatly, for the rose 
branches were beset with thorns, but the high wind 
and the pitiless rain and the hot sun of noonday — 
these filled her with dread unspeakable. 

Noon passed and the flowers in the garden grew 
drowsy in the quivering heat. 

No one came by — for there were many other 
roadways and gates, and none would take the 
bridle path when the sun was high. 

After the merry court at her father’s palace this 
was desolation to the little rose-princess. A very 
passion of homesickness swept over her. She 
longed for anyone she knew, even the dumb gray 
elves, — when, faintly, and far off she heard the 
sound of horses’ hoofs upon the beaten path. A 


106 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


faint interest stirred her, for the hours had been so 
long and monotonous. 

Soon a man dressed in black came in sight riding 
a great black horse, and beside him rode a woman 
with snow-white hair; but none could tell her age 
for her eyes were so merry and bright. 

Behind these riders came two little grooms who 
looked bored and preoccupied with their own 
affairs. They rode gray ponies, and were dressed 
in gay colored cordovan leather jerkins, and leg- 
gins laced with silver cord and thick-set with loose- 
sewn silver buttons, that jingled like little bells. 

The rose wondered who the man upon the great 
black horse could be. He filled her with awe, he 
was so grave and dark and strong. Mortals were 
new to her, and this one was not at all like the merry 
ladies and gentlemen who had passed in the morn- 
ing. They were not so different, except in size, 
from the folk of her own father’s court. But no 
two could be more different than the cavalier who 
pricked his thumb and this man upon the black 
horse. The grooms were simply grooms such as 
might be anywhere, she thought; but the woman 
with her white hair and sparkling eyes was differ- 
ent again from any she had seen. 

She wondered about her also, and listened in- 
tently to the sound of their pleasant voices as they 
drew slowly near. When a word drifted to her she 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


107 


understood it, as she had the words of the gardener 
and the little court-maid and the cavalier. 

Of this she was very thankful, and she hoped 
they would not pass without seeing her. She 
longed to have them stop if only for a moment, for 
the garden was so wide and lonesome. 

She had forgotten she was a rose, until the riders 
were close beside her, and she heard the woman’s 
voice speaking eagerly. “Look, my son!” she ex- 
claimed. “How lovely a thing! Saw you ever 
such a perfect rose? Yet what extravagance to set 
a carven gold-pot beside the bridle path! It is 
quite lost,” she laughed. “But in truth the rose is 
worth it — it is a very marvel! I must dismount 
and breathe its fragrance!” 

“Nay, my mother,” the man answered, “it shall 
be brought to you.” 

He beckoned to a groom. “The queen desires 
yonder rose,” he said; “pluck it carefully, and strip 
it of thorns.” 

The groom bowed, and turned to obey, but the 
queen-mother checked him. “No! No!” she com- 
manded. “With all the thanks in the world, my 
son, — I will not have it plucked. But I would see 
it closer. Bring hither the golden pot.” 

The groom sprang to obey, and brought the 
rose-bush to the queen’s side. She bent down from 
her horse, lifting the blossom to her face. Pres- 


108 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


ently she looked up with a little smile and shook her 
head. 

“It is without perfume,” she said, “quite without. 
How disappointing in so wondrous a rose!” Then 
to the groom: “Take the plant away.” 

The dark man smiled also. “You are mistaken 
perhaps, mother mine — the rose is only half -blown, 
you see.” She shook her head again. 

“ ’Tis but a small matter. Your Majesty, but I 
am right. It has no vestige of sweetness.” 

“Bring me the plant,” the king said to the groom. 

The golden pot was lifted again, and the king 
drew the rose towards him. “In truth you are 
right,” he assented. “It has no sweetness, but in- 
stead is beset with most villainous thorns! A rose 
without perfume is like a woman without a soul, 
methinks. Yet withal, this is a rare and lovely 
thing. Wilt change thy mind and have it?” 

“No, dear heart,” she refused. “I would rather 
have a bramble that were sweet. Perchance I am 
fondest of pansies after all. They look up at me 
and remind me of children — here in this great gar- 
den where are no faces so innocent.” 

The king frowned. “We need no children in 
the palace garden, my mother,” he returned. “The 
times are full of peril on land and sea. My nights 
and days are overfilled with anxieties for the State 
— and thee. We need no children.” 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


109 


The queen-mother sighed, then turned the sub- 
ject lightly. 

“Well, prithee, ’tis a rare flower, and a costly 
pot. Who could have brought it hither so far from 
the rose-garden?” 

“Perchance I have a friend I know not of,” the 
king answered absently. “Of givers of gifts there 
is no end.” So speaking, they passed through the 
gates and the rose was again left alone. 

“The king!” she thought, “so that was the mor- 
tal king — of a land of mortals ! Of a certainty he 
was good to look upon — though one would not 
think to find a king so grave and troubled.” 

The queen-mother had more of youth in her eyes 
and smile than he. 

Was that the way, she wondered, of kings in this 
new land? No one in the fairy country showed 
such weariness. What could these perilous times 
be; what the heavy cares of State? A feeling of 
pity stirred within her golden heart, as she thought 
on and on. 

“That a king should look so sorrowful,” she 
sighed. “What then was the use of being ruler over 
a country of mortals? Strange that his eyes were 
so grave in his young face — strange the note of 
bitterness in his voice. Why should there be no 
need of children in the garden; what could befall 
them but joy?” It was all a puzzle to the rose- 


110 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


princess, and it took her thoughts away from her 
own doleful fate. 

All through the late afternoon, on through the 
tinted twilight — on into the moonlit night, she won- 
dered and wondered about the young king, and 
sighed and pitied him. She forgot even to be 
lonely, though the birds and butterflies were asleep 
and only the flitter-mice, the lantern-eyed owls, and 
other fly-by-nights were abroad. Indeed, as dawn 
drew near she had forgotten to grieve over her own 
sorrows, and only thought of his. 

His words haunted her. “A rose without per- 
fume,” he had said, “is like a woman without a 
soul.” Such words should have angered her per- 
haps, but they did not, for she was not a rose with- 
out perfume. 

Remembering this, she folded the leaves still 
closer about her heart. Death — death would fol- 
low should the sweetness escape. Then should the 
king ride by to-morrow, he would see only a 
withered flower upon the stalk, or a scatter of red 
leaves on the bridle path. There might be a scent 
of attar-of-rose on the air — nothing else. She 
shuddered and shuddered but as the night had been 
long, grew drowsy and slept as flowers sleep. 

A week went by, a week of sultry heat, then one 
morning the old gardener came. 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


111 


“Thou art a long-lived rose, my pretty,” he said, 
pausing. “A long-lived rose. But the wind will 
blow up, and the rains will come. Roses be like 
joys, my pretty. They last not long.” 

So he tottered away. More and more lonely 
grew the little rose-princess. Over and over she 
counted the sum of her selfish deeds in fairy-land, 
and regretted them. For she had come now to 
know both sorrow and regret. Through all these 
intolerable hours she watched for the young king 
and thought of his grave face, but he did not pass, 
and the memory grew to be like a dream. 

On the eighth morning, though, he came, one of 
the gay grooms riding behind. The rose heard the 
jingling of the silver buttons before they came in 
sight. 

His Majesty was in black as before, and rode 
slowly on his great black horse, for the day was 
warm. They had almost passed the rose-bush 
when the king spoke. 

“How many days have gone since we took the 
bridle path with the queen?” he asked. 

“Eight days, Your Majesty,” replied the small 
groom. 

“Eight days ! And the rose on yonder bush still 
blooms!” the king exclaimed. “Surely ’tis not the 
same blossom, Nicholas?” 


112 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“The very same, Your Majesty,” he answered. 
“I noticed there was no other bud on all the plant 
but this alone on the topmost branch.” 

“Strange,” said the young king. “Eight days, 
Nicholas, is long life for a rose. But there was 
something about the blossom, we remarked, — yes, 
yes, I remember, it was scentless, and my mother 
would have none of it. Women are like that, and 
I myself care not for such roses in my garden.” 
So saying, he rode away, the jingling groom fol- 
lowing. 

A great desolation swept over the little princess- 
rose as they went. 

“He cared not for such in his garden! Oh, if he 
only knew!” she thought, “if he only knew!” If 
she could but find a way to tell him. But there was 
no such way. Everything passed because she had 
no sweetness. Almost she wished she were a cinna- 
mon rose, or a briar ; then perchance the king would 
have broken her from the stem and fastened her on 
his doublet and worn her away. Yet she scorned 
herself for the thought. She a princess! — Truly 
a princess, though enchanted. For a little only 
pride and anger filled her heart. Then she was 
left again to loneliness and these things passed 
away. 

Day after day went by, and now she had come to 
watch the bridle path hour by hour for the dark 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


113 


figure on the great black horse. Hour by hour 
she listened for the jingling buttons of the little 
groom. 

And again one morning of sunshine they came. 

This time the king drew his horse up suddenly 
beside the rose-bush. 

“Now, by Flora, the goddess of all flowers!” he 
exclaimed, “but this is past belief! The scentless 
rose still blooms, Nicholas! How many days since 
we took this path before?” 

“Eight days, Your Majesty,” returned the little 
groom. 

“Sixteen in all since my mother rode here with 
me then,” said the king, “and still but half -blown! 
Dismount and bring hither the golden pot, 
Nicholas.” 

The princess-rose trembled with excitement. 
“What next?” she thought, “what next?” 

The king leaned down and touched the flower. 
“Unscented still,” he said, “but of a rare beauty. 
I will have this golden pot and plant taken to the 
room-of-books in the palace, Nicholas. Call the 
gardener.” 

The old man came, pulling his forelock of white 
hair. 

“A strange rose, this, Bellman,” said the king, 
“and one that knows not the time to die. Have 
it taken to the palace.” 


114 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Ay! Your Majesty, 5 ’ the old man answered. 
“It be a rare queer rose, as you say. I see all 
things in thy garden, but never have I seen bird 
or bee or moth or butterfly stop near her. It seems 
a friendless thing, to these old eyes, and be-likes is 
lonely. 55 

“Lonely! 55 echoed the king, “then I should indeed 
have it taken to my palace. Loneliness reigns 
there, Bellman, for all the court. 55 

“Is not thy Mother with thee — my Master? 55 
questioned the gardener. 

“She is there, Bellman, but is ill since yester eve. 
My brothers are at enmity with us, as you who 
have known us always, have heard. The friend I 
love best has been lately killed in battle — and peace 
has not yet come. Much I envy you your days of 
peace here in the garden. But we must ride on. 
So good morrow to you, old friend. 55 

The rose listened until the last sound died away. 

Then came an under-gardener and carried the 
golden pot and rose-bush to the palace. After- 
wards an unbending footman placed them by a 
window in the room-of-books. It was a quiet room 
and filled with a golden gloom. Books lined the 
walls from floor to ceiling. There was no other 
flower in all the place and the red rose shone like 
a flame in the soft light. 

A gladness flooded her heart, and though the 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


115 


room was more quiet than the garden, and there 
was no one in it, she was no longer lonely. For 
this was the king’s palace, and sooner or later he 
would return to it. She listened for his step and 
watched for him. 

By and by he came, and seeing the flower, went 
over to it and lifted the half -blown bud. 

“Most lovely thing,” he said. “Whence have 
you this power to live? — Dost not know you have 
out-stayed your time? — Art perchance a rose of 
Heaven — blown by chance on earth, and therefore 
fadeless? No. Not so. The roses of Heaven 
would be sweet of perfume.” 

Night came but the rose was not afraid, for she 
thought of the king’s words and waited for him to 
return. 

Time went on, and always when His Majesty en- 
tered the room-of-books he stopped by the rose and 
marveled at it. 

“So lovely still !” he said one morning. “Not one 
petal dropped! Give me your secret, little rose, 
that I may keep eterrlal youth. And yet — no! I 
have no youth to keep, though my years are not 
many. Wars and the rumors of wars age me. 
Strife in the court, the jealousy of my brothers, the 
illness of my beloved mother, all these take the 
joy out of life. If I knew love — such love as one 
dreams of; but no, again. There is no beauty in 


116 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


all my court I could so love. They are like you — 
little rose. Everyone like you. They lack sweet- 
ness, — soul. The nameless something without 
which they are worthless. 

“If you had been sweet, little rose, you would 
have been plucked long ere this. Ay — plucked 
and carried to the queen, for by my faith, never 
was there so bewitching a flower!” 

Again he went away, and through all the hours 
that followed the rose-princess listened only for his 
step. 

But there came a day of mourning to the palace, 
when it was hushed, and no slightest sound of mirth 
by hall or stair drifted into the room-of -books, as 
it so often did. No one of all the courtiers came 
and wondered at her lasting bloom. For often 
now they came and wondered at her; old scientists 
and philosophers ; wise men of diverse cults, alchem- 
ists, and theorists, as well as the young and frivo- 
lous courtiers. The rose had become the fashion 
of the hour as a topic and diversion, and all knew 
of her beauty. But by the king’s order no lightest 
touch was to be laid upon the plant in the golden 
pot. 

To-day though, no one entered the room-of- 
books except a little page to fetch a breviary, and 
he was garbed most dolefully in black from head 
to toe. 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 117 

Having got the book, curiosity took him over to 
the flower. 

“Queer little thing!” he said as though half- 
afraid. “All the court is guessing about thee! I 
myself think thou art enchanted, and if I could 
steal one crimson leaf and wear it upon my heart I 
never would grow old either. But that would not 
suit me to remain as I am. I would be a man. 
’Tis hateful to be young and sent hither and thither 
at the whim of a maid-of -honor, and then, perad- 
venture ha’ one’s ears boxed at any mischance. 
Truly I desire to be a man speedily. But hark you, 
sweet one, — I want not to grow ancient! Nay, 
verily! Nor to die. I like not the aspect of death. 
I like it not at all. Heed you, little rose. The 
queen-mother is dead, and to be entombed to- 
morrow. And she was not so ancient, and was of 
a merry heart withal. Yet she is dead,” he shivered 
a little. “In the chapel she lies in state. To lie in 
state is a sorry business, lovely rose. Sooner would 
I be a page and alive!” 

So he left the room, peering fearfully around, for 
the place was full of shadows. 

The little rose was alone again, but she had now 
no thoughts for herself, nor any self-pity. All her 
thoughts were with the young king. It was the 
weight of his loneliness that hurt her, and she only 
felt his sorrow. 


118 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


At noon the next day a bell began tolling. One 
by one the solemn, heavy sounds fell, setting the 
air a-quiver. The rose shuddered as she heard 
them. 

“She is dead!” the bell said. “She is dead! — is 
dead ! She is dead !” over and over and over again. 

“To be dead,” thought the little rose. “Why 
was it to be so feared? Did they not say in her 
own country that no fairy died but only changed? 
— Yet, what was this change? Who could tell? 
Her godmother had warned her to hold fast the 
magic perfume, or she would die.” 

Fear possessed her. She remembered the face 
of the little page when he had told of the queen’s 
lying-in-state. 

And as she thought, the door of the room-of- 
books opened, and the king entered. There was 
no change at all in his garments, for he ever wore 
black, but his young face was like carven ivory. 

He walked up and down the long room — up and 
down. Presently he stopped beside the rose-bush, 
and stood looking at the crimson flower. 

“Wonderful!” he said at last. “Most wonder- 
ful of all things I have seen! A deathless rose in 
this world of death. Yet who would wish to live 
long?” He shook his head and smiled a little. “I 
can think of but one thing that would detain me, 
willingly, — I would know love before I pass on.” 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


119 


Then he shrugged his shoulders as at a fancy. 
“To be a king — and yet have bestowed upon one 
the gift of true love also. ’Tis too much to ask 
of Fate.” 

Again he paced the floor and again paused by 
the flower. This time he touched it lightly. 

“O beautiful — most beautiful!” he repeated. 
“If you were only sweet! Then I would to-day 
carry you to my mother as my last gift. She lies 
in such lonely grandeur, little rose. Methinks you 
might even yet bring her some comfort. The great 
wreaths and arches of white flowers — the mourning 
tokens — seem not to belong to her at all.” 

The rose looked into the face above her and 
trembled. Suddenly she understood that the hour 
had come when there was but one thing left for 
her to do. She must set the magic perfume free 
to sweeten the air, since the king wished it. 

Then she would be carried to the dead queen and 
laid in her hand — and afterwards there would be 
no more — no more of all that she had known. 

Yet strangely now, she felt no fear. A warm 
wind blew in through the window. The rose bent 
before it and the red leaves uncurled. It blew 
again, and the rose unlocked the leaves about her 
heart. In a moment a heavenly sweetness floated 
through the room-of-books. 

With a cry of astonishment the young king 


120 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


looked about. “ ’Tis passing strange!” he said. 
“The air is turning golden, and sparkles as with 
broken stars! Now ’tis filled with incense! The 
perfume of Araby — or the wind from over a thou- 
sand gardens!” 

Then he remembered the plant in the golden pot. 

“The rose! the rose!” he exclaimed. “It is the 
deathless flower of all the world that hath unsealed 
its balm! O lovely rose, I will carry you to the 
queen and you will give her joy even yet.” 

He lifted the rose to his lips and kissed its petals, 
but even as he touched them, they curled at the 
edges and their color faded. One loosened and 
fell to the floor; then another. 

The king gazed in sorrowful amazement at the 
change. As still another leaf fluttered to his feet 
a soft darkness crept over the room-of-books. 
Deeper and denser it grew until it was like the 
Egyptian dark of old. A peal of thunder fol- 
lowed, that shook the very palace. 

Afterwards light and silence came back, little by 
little, until sunshine flooded the place. 

The king stood as before, his hand about the rose. 
He had not broken it from the stem, yet the leaves 
were still withering fast. But more strange than 
even this — beside the king stood one as kingly as 
himself — only he was fairy small! His robes glit- 
tered with gold and silver embroidery and many 


A ROSE ENCHANTED 


121 


colored gems, and upon his head was a crown. 

“O mortal king!” he said, bowing deeply, “I 
come from a land you know not beyond the last 
river. Far have I searched for the flower you hold 
— that I might bear it home. Only now, within 
this last moment have I found my way hither, and 
now methinks I have come too late. It is not a 
rose you hold, O mortal king, but a princess of 
fairyland who is enchanted. The ancient and wise 
one who so enchanted her has departed to another 
life — and alas! the charm has worked out to this 
dire conclusion. 

“In the heart of the rose was hidden a magic 
perfume. While the leaves held it fast, she lived, 
but if she gave the perfume to the air — death was 
her portion.” 

The young king looked steadily upon the wither- 
ing flower from which the leaves still fell. 

“Alas!” he said. “I am unacquainted with the 
ways of fairyland. The ways of my own troubled 
country are often beyond my power of understand- 
ing; yet it seems this little rose — and none other 
was e’er so lovely — gave her sweetness to me, and 
brought death to herself thereby. Would, O Fairy 
king, that I had power to return life to one so 
dear.” 

The fairy king lifted his hand on which was a 
dull gold ring. 


122 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 

“O mortal majesty!” he replied. “The fairy 
who placed this enchantment of the rose upon the 
little princess, gave also to me this wishing-ring. 
It is yet potent to grant one wish of the three it 
once could give. Only harm has come of it be- 
fore. Now we will see what remains. Hold fast 
thy withering flower and I will wish upon the 
fairy’s ring!” 

Slowly the golden light faded again from the 
room, and deep darkness fell. Then the voice of 
the fairy king sounded in the stillness. 

“O ancient ring!” he said. “Grant me the one 
last wish in thy keeping! I wish that the rose- 
princess be restored to life !” 

Once more came the rolling thunder, and the 
soft return of the sunlight. 

The dazzling fairy king had vanished as he came, 
but in the room-of -books stood the young king as 
before. His hand touched no fading rose on the 
top branch of the green bush in the golden pot, — 
for there was no blossom of any kind there: only 
beside him was surely the loveliest princess in all 
the whole world ! A mortal princess ! 

Her eyes were dark as purple pansies and her 
face colored like the apple blooms of May. She 
wore a gown silvery as cobwebs on the grass at 
dawn, but not a jewel decked her beauty anywhere. 
The red-gold of her hair floated about her and 



“Verily — yes, sweetheart,” he answered, “we will go into the garden.” 















4 





A ROSE ENCHANTED 


123 


dazzled the young king’s eyes, as in the other days 
the eyes of the little gray elves used to be dazzled 
by it. 

She looked up into his face and smiled happily. 

“O lovely princess!” he cried. “From what far 
country have you come? I pray you tell me! I 
pray you tell me!” 

“Nay — I know not,” she answered as one be- 
wildered. “But what matter? I seem to have 
come over a long road — and all the way I have been 
watching for you — yes — all the way!” 

“And I too,” he said, taking her hand, “have 
come over a long road, and have been looking for 
you, my princess.” 

“Come!” she said. “There is a scent of roses on 
the air. Let us go out into the garden !” 

“Verily — yes, sweetheart,” he answered. “We 
will go into the garden. But first, first” — and a 
mist dimmed his eyes — “I must take you to one who 
sleeps. Her dreams will be sweeter afterwards.” 

So hand-in-hand they went out of the room-of- 
books, taking all for granted as well as each other, 
and asking no unanswerable questions of life, for 
this is the old fond way of all true lovers. 


THE GARGOYLE AND THE GRIFFIN 


Little-girl walked very slowly through the 
grass toward the sun-dial to see what time it was. 
Once she stopped to pick a dandelion gone to seed, 
and blew the puff-ball, thinking it might tell her the 
hour, but after blowing thirteen times, only to find 
some pins of fluff still standing stiffly on the whitey- 
green pincushion, she gave it up and went on to the 
dial. 

When she had decided that it was half -past three, 
she walked slowly back to the house, swinging her 
pink sunbonnet, and then sat down on the stone 
steps close to the gargoyle. 

Usually, Little-girl skipped and ran, or hopped 
and danced, but to-day she did not do any of these 
things, for it was so still and hot in the garden, and 
so lonesome. 

Little-girl had often noticed this lonesomeness at 
night. It would come creeping through the rooms 
like a gray fog, after she had gone to bed, and 
Mammy had snuffed out the candle. It was there 
when she woke up in the middle of the darkness and 

heard the rain pattering on the roof, and the wind 
124 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 125 

rattling at the doors and crying to be let in; but it 
did not often come in the daytime to the garden. 

Under the magnolia trees an old peacock walked 
in solitary state, trailing his emerald and bronze 
tail. Now and then he paused to set his feathers 
a-quiver, and to call fiercely that it was going to 
rain ; but the child paid no attention to him, for that 
was what he always called. 

The sunlight sifted through the red silken cups of 
the poppies that edged the walk, and they dazzled 
Little-girl’s eyes so that she looked away and over 
the restful green of the lawn. 

A broken fountain stood near the dial, with a 
figure of Pan among the reeds for its center-piece. 
The child sighed, thinking how beautiful it would 
be to have a glittering spray of water raining up 
into the air, and then raining down again, with a 
cool splash against the basin. The brown, dusty 
figure with the pipes held against his silent lips, 
wearied, yet fascinated her. 

Then she watched the grasshoppers play their 
long game of hide-and-seek, and listened to the 
katydids that suddenly broke out into argument 
in the big locust trees overhead, and as suddenly 
stopped. From the straw hives along the garden 
wall where the hollyhocks grew, came a low mur- 
muring like the very far-off sound of the sea* 
Little-girl had never heard the sea. 


126 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


It had all been just like this so many, many mid- 
summer afternoons. At this hour, always. Granny 
went to sleep in the darkened parlor, and old 
Mammy nodded in her chair on the back porch. 
The shadow finger crept around the sun-dial; Pan 
blew soundlessly upon his reeds, and the heat shook 
itself free of the earth, and broke the air into tiny 
hot waves. But it seemed to Little-girl that to-day 
the griffin and the gargoyle watched her. The 
griffin was carven in marble, and rested majesti- 
cally upon the side of the steps. His wings made a 
sort of balustrade, very helpful to hold by in slip- 
pery weather. One could also sit on his back. The 
gargoyle finished off the spout of the water-pipe 
that ran down the side of the house close by the 
steps, and he was made of gray stone. 

His day of usefulness had some time ceased, for 
the water-pipe, like the fountain, was hopelessly 
broken, and when it rained nowadays the rain 
dripped in around the windows, leaked down 
through the roof, and sent small rivers everywhere 
but along the pipe and through his open mouth. 

The gargoyle had never appeared to trouble 
about this, nor had he at any time changed his ex- 
pression, that Little-girl could remember. Now, 
though, undoubtedly, there was something about 
him out of the common. The child gazed at him 
attentively, and wonderingly, and then looked up 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 127 


at the griffin, for he also in a subtle, indefinite 
fashion was stirred out of his usual calm. Once he 
certainly tried to wink at her, and opened his beak, 
and when she moved quickly away further along the 
istep, glancing back at the gargoyle to see if he had 
noticed — the gargoyle goggled his eyes, and dis- 
tinctly smiled. 

It was a wide and continuous smile, whole-souled 
and kind, but not becoming. Little-girl did not 
like to hurt his feelings by telling him so, and she 
waited to see if he would stop. After a few min- 
utes she shook her yellow head gently at him. 

“Oh! Please don’t,” she said, rather uncom- 
fortably. 

“Don’t what?” inquired the gargoyle. “Prithee, 
don’t what, my dear?” 

“Don’t smile,” said Little-girl, coloring a bright 
pink. “Not so much, at least; I like you best 
plain.” 

A crackling laugh came suddenly from the grif- 
fin, that seemed to rend him within. 

“Dear me! I wish you wouldn’t either!” ex- 
claimed Little-girl gently, turning to him. “It 
doesn’t sound natural, some way.” 

“But it’s so funny, you know,” gasped the griffin, 
“So extremely funny! Oh! Marcus Agrippa! You 
like him best plainl Now, I, for instance, would 
prefer him beautiful f* 


128 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Of course,” returned Little-girl, an indignant 
tremble in her voice, “I couldn’t expect you to un- 
derstand. I meant I like him best just as he has 
always been — with his usual face.” 

The griffin roared again, with even more crack- 
ling as of concealed fireworks. 

“My, my!” he said at last, wiping his eyes, “the 
more I think of it, the funnier it gets. It’s the best 
I’ve heard for years.” 

Little-girl regarded him with displeasure. “He 
smiles quite as nicely as you laugh,” she answered. 
“You sounded exactly as though you were 
breaking.” 

“Perhaps I did overdo it,” he agreed. “Kindly 
trot around and see if any of the ribs on my other 
side are cracked.” 

“I’m afraid if they are, they will have to stay 
cracked, for Granny says China cement won’t hold, 
and it would cost too much to get you riveted, you 
know.” 

“I am aware of the condition of the exchequer,” 
he returned dryly. 

“Anyway,” Little-girl went on, “there was 
nothing at all to laugh at, and if it is risky you 
shouldn’t do it. Granny would be most unhappy 
if you were to break; she wouldn’t have anything 
happen to you for worlds.” 

The griffin winked. “I believe you,” he said. 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 129 

I am very old and valuable — very old, and very 
valuable. In other words, I am valuable because I 
am old, and old because I am valuable, you see?” 

I m afraid I don’t exactly,” she said, looking 
puzzled. “It sounds mixed. Perhaps if you were 
to think it over, and say it another way — ” 

“Think!” snapped the griffin. “Think! Don’t 
talk nonsense, child ! I have done absolutely noth- 
ing but think since the stone age.” 

“The stone age?” Little-girl repeated. “That 
sounds queer too; I know about the middle ages; 
perhaps you mean one of them?” 

“I mean stone age,” said the griffin, with some 
heat. 

“Oh, all right!” she returned quickly, for he had 
ruffled up his head feathers. “It doesn’t matter in 
the least. But about your being valuable: Does 
Granny know it? She so often says we are poor, 
with just nothing but this old house and garden. 
We have corn-cakes very, very often; if we were 
rich, we wouldn’t, you know, and if we had valuable 
things, why, we would be rich, I should think.” 

“Odso! I’m as old as he is,” remarked the gar- 
goyle, irrelevantly. 

“Pardon me,” said the griffin, turning to him 
with a cold stare. “Not within centuries, my dear 
boy. You are Early English, or something of 
that sort. What is your date, do you remember?” 


130 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“It’s 1580,” answered the gargoyle promptly. 
“I finished off the water-spout of an inn on Cheap- 
side — a mightily fine inn! ’Twas there the Lord 
High Chancellor’s players used to stop. Marry! 
I have seen Queen Elizabeth, and the Queen of 
Scots, and James the First, and Charles, the 
Martyr, and the Merry Charles, and — ” 

“Spare us ! Spare us !” cried the griffin. “Do 
not, I pray of you, grow reminiscent; nothing bores 
me like history. You undoubtedly have the 1580 
accent. We will let it go at that. But permit me 
to settle the question of age while we are about it. 
I was chipped out in Athens, and taken to Rome in 
the time of the Caesars.” 

“Which one?” asked the gargoyle. 

“Several, several,” returned the griffin, airily. 
“Historical names are most tedious.” 

“Peradventure thou be so old, thy memory is 
gone,” retorted the gargoyle. “It hath that look.” 

“My memory gone? My memory? Did you 
say memory?” he answered in a peculiarly calm 
voice. 

“Oh, please, please don’t quarrel!” cried Little- 
girl, as she noticed his claws moving in and out. 
“It’s most unpleasant for everybody when you do. 
I don’t like you to talk about your ages, anyway, 
for I am quite new. I do not even go back to 
William IV or Victoria.” 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 131 

“Thou canst not help that,” the gargoyle re- 
marked, sympathetically. 

“She doesn’t want to,” sniffed the griflin. 

“She couldn’t help it, if she did want to,” said 
the other. 

Little-girl shook her head at each of them. 

“Oh, don’t begin again!” she entreated. “But 
please be good enough to tell me if one cannot be 
valuable, even if one is not old?” 

“Marry, yes!” answered the gargoyle. “Thou 
art.” 

“Well, I’m not so sure,” put in the griffin 
moodily. “She’s a nice enough little thing; — good 
combination of colors — yellow hair, brown eyes, 
peach-blossom pink and white face, and so forth; 
and of course there is a sentimental value attached 
to little girls; but what would she sell for? That's 
the point.” 

“Sell for?” said the gargoyle, with a gasp. “Sell 
for! Faith, who wants to sell her? Bethink you 
what the garden would be without her ! Fancy this 
old house without her! Little-girl is the only 
young thing about it. Granny is old; Mammy is 
old; the peacock is old; Pan and the dial are very 
old. They sleep in the sun and dream of yester- 
day. Little-girl is the only one who dreams of to- 
morrow. They be all so old — so old. 

“But not so old as I am,” said the griffin, yawn- 


132 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


ing. “Nor so valuable. I used to wait before the 
temple of Flora. Aye, between the flight of marble 
steps and the tall white pillars. There were the 
mighty carven doors, one on each side, and I saw 
the little maidens carry in the garlands of fresh 
flowers every morning. On festal days they 
wreathed my wings with roses. Then came War 
and Calamity. My temple was torn down, and I 
was carried across the sea. They set me upon the 
stone gate-post that stood without a strong castle 
in Devon, and they carved new English lettering 
below me, and the date of my removal, — ’tis easily 
found.” 

Little-girl leaned up and read, running her finger 
along the deeply-cut quaint letters and figures, 
which spelt: “Roman Gryphon, 1160.” 

“What did you, all the years?” asked the gar- 
goyle. 

“I have been on guard,” he answered. “I 
guarded the Temple of Flora; I watched the 
Devonshire castle ; I am on guard here. The man 
who chipped me from the marble talked to me wdiile 
he worked. T will make you part lion, part eagle,’ 
he said, ‘for strength is best when it is of two kinds ; 
the strength blent of the earth and of the heavens. 
So I will give you the strong body and the mighty 
wings, and I will consecrate you to the Sun, the 
strength-giver.’ ” 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 133 

The griffin stopped speaking, closed his eyes and 
stretched slowly and softly, like a great cat. The 
gargoyle said nothing, so the child leaned over and 
touched his rough head. 

“And you?” she asked. “What did the man say 
when he chipped you from the gray stone?” 

The gargoyle sighed. 

“It does not matter now, though it seemed to 
then,” he said. “In very truth, ’tis strange it does 
not matter now : that I do not even hate him when 
I hated him so bitterly long ago. Many times I 
wished that he had never made me.” 

“Why?” said Little-girl gently. 

“Because he made me as I am. When he had 
the stone and the chisel and the hammer, it seemeth 
he might have carven a thing that was beautiful, 
or a symbol of strength, like the griffin. But he 
said: T will make you ugly,’ and he smiled as he 
said it, and chipped away heartily; T will make you 
so fearsome and ugly that the children will either 
laugh or run away from you, and the women will 
close their eyes as they pass by you, and the men will 
point at you and call you my “grotesque master- 
piece.” I will make of you a thing to keep evil 
spirits and mischievous goblins away from all 
houses where you are hung.’ ” 

“And have you?” asked Little-girl eagerly. 
“Have you?” 


134 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Peradventure I have,” he answered, “but I can- 
not tell for certain. I have watched by night and 
day, but have seen naught to fear, naught as mis- 
shapen as myself. The Angel of Life and the 
Angel of Death have entered the houses I have 
watched; they have both come to this house by day- 
light and dark, and I know them well. But they 
are angels and fear nothing, neither are they to be 
feared/’ 

“Perhaps it is as Granny thinks,” said the child, 
“and there are no evil spirits except those within 
us.” 

The gargoyle smiled, but Little-girl did not stop 
him. 

“Then there are none here, dear Little-girl,” he 
answered, “either within or without.” 

The katydids broke into shrill singing overhead, 
which stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The 
peacock trailed his emerald and bronze tail across 
the grass beneath the magnolias. Now and then he 
set his feathers a-quiver, and called stridently that 
it was going to rain. The grasshoppers played 
hide-and-seek, and the air trembled in small hot 
waves from the ground. 

In the center of the fountain. Pan seemed to 
droop among his reeds, and dream. The shadow- 
finger moved around the gray sun-dial, and the 
dazzling blue dragon-flies darted across it. 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 135 


Then old Mammy came through the garden, her 
red turban nodding like a big poppy. 

“Whar’ am you, honey?” she called in her soft 
throaty voice. “I reckon yo’ sure am lost dis time. 
Lil-gal! Lil-gal! If yo’s hidin’ yo’ betta come 
out right smart, for dis ole woman’s ’bout done 
lookin’ yander an’ nigh — ” 

Presently, she came up to the steps, and stopped. 

“Dat blessed lamb,” she muttered, stooping down. 
“Soun’ asleep between de ole grip pin an’ de gargle. 
It am beauty an’ de beastes for certain sure. Here, 
yo’ baby, wake up! Yo’ granny wants yo’ pretty 
soon — wake up.” 

Little-girl sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Is that 
you, Mammy?” she said. 

“Is dat me? Mercy, honey, yo’ think yo’ ole 
mammy was a fairy, or some sort o’ angel, yo’ been 
’sociating with in yo’ dreams?” 

“I see it is you, now, Mammy. Will you please 
look at the gargoyle, and tell me if he is smiling?” 

The old woman glanced at the child, anxiously. 

“Hab yo’ a touch o’ de sun— or isn’t yo’ wide 
awake, chile?”, 

“Look and see, Mammy,” insisted Little-girl. 

Mammy turned and looked at the gargoyle. 
‘Tie ain’t smilin’ none, honey,” she answered. “He 
hab jest dat ‘no-friends-no-money’ look he always 
hab. — He certinly ain’t smilin’, no, siree! — ” 


136 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Now look at the griffin, and see if he is the 
same as always,” said Little-girl. 

“I got sumpin to tell you ’bout dat ole grippin!” 
exclaimed Mammy, her face suddenly wrinkled into 
smiles. “Sumpin I come out in the gyarden to tell 
yo’ when you seem hid ’most as well as Moses in the 
bulrushes.” 

“Look at him first, and see if he is at all — queer 
— please. Mammy,” pleaded Little-girl. 

Mammy looked, and then shook her head vigor- 
ously. 

“No queerer dan usual,” she replied. “He’d 
take de medal for queerness mos’ anywhere, and 
dat’s de truf! He ain’t a right smart ’Merican 
eagle, nor he ain’t a out-an-out British lion. He 
jest naturally don’t ’pear to know which side de 
fence he’s on. But yo’ set up an’ listen; I got news 
— dat’s what I got. Now, den. am yo’ listenin’? 
Well, dat ole grippin — ” 

“I would rather not hear anything about the grif- 
fin, if you please. Mammy. I am tired of him,” 
she answered. 

“So! So!” said the old nurse. “Well, if you 
don’t want to hear nothin’ ’bout de grippin, den 
I ain’t got nothin’ to tell you.” 

There was silence for a few minutes, except for 
the humming of the bees. Then — “You may tell 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 137 


me about him, Mammy,” said Little-girl. “Sit 
down here on the step.” 

“Well, it’s more like one ob dose book stories 
than life happenings, honey. Come here de odder 
day when yo’ was up in de garret playin’ ‘lady’ in 
yo’ granny’s gowns, an ole man, powerful out ob 
de ordinary, wid green glasses on his eyes and a 
white umbrella hat on his head, lined with grass 
green. He ask to see Miss Nellie — ’scuze me, yo’ 
granny, I mean, and den yo’ granny an’ dat ole man 
dey go all roun’ de gyarden, an’ de ole man tote a 
spyglass. Here an’ dere dey stop an’ admire de 
fixins, but dey stop de longest by de gargle an’ de 
grippin. De ole man he seem bubblin’ wid joy, an’ 
he peered first at de gargle, den at de grippin, like 
dey was long-lost friends.” 

“Is that all, Mammy?” said Little-girl, yawning 
as politely as she could. 

“No, mam, dat is not all. Dat ole man he tuk 
de mos’ powerful fancy to de grippin, an’ he sayd 
plump and plain he mus’ hab him!” 

“What did Granny say?” asked Little-girl, her 
eyes wide open. 

“Yo’ granny she said, ‘No! No! No!’ An’ 
she got dat wdiite, proud ’spression.” 

“I know,” said Little-girl. “And then, 
Mammy?” 


138 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Then, honey, de ole man he lose his temper, an’ 
he rampage up an’ down de lawn, an’ he say he’ll 
pay more money for de grippin dan anybody else’d 
pay for de whole house an’ gyarden, an’ after dat 
dey had it back an’ forth cool an’ perlite for a spell, 
but sort o’ dangerous.” 

“And then?” said Little-girl. 

“Then he went away, and yo’ Granny she walk up 
an’ down whar de ole peacock is, an’ den she come in 
an’ sit in de parlor wid de blinds all drawn, like 
dere’s a funeral. An’ de big clock ticked mighty 
loud in de hall.” 

The old woman paused so long that Little-girl 
thought the story was over, but the soft voice went 
on: 

“When to-day come, dat ole man he sent a letta 
yo’ Granny says, sayin’ he jest must hab de grip- 
pin, an’ he sends de money wid de letta what he says 
de grippin’s worth — no more — no less — an’ de up- 
shot is yo’ Granny’s goin’ to send him de grippin 
an 9 keep de money , for she needs de money more 
dan she needs de grippin . 

“Dat’s de end, honey, only now I reckon you’ll 
bof up an’ go to de sea-side twill de heat spell’s 
over.” 

“And is the griffin really, really valuable, 
Mammy?” 


THE GARGOYLE AND GRIFFIN 139 


“I spec’ he is, baby; I spec’ he is. Ole an’ valu- 
able, an’ dat’s de truf.” 

“He said he was,” answered Little-girl. Then 
she smiled at the rough gray head on the water 
spout. 

“I’m glad the old gentleman didn’t want the 
gargoyle,” she said. 

The two sat still on the door step in the golden 
light of the late afternoon. Presently Little-girl 
sprang up, danced round in front of Mammy, and 
caught her hand. “Come!” she cried. “Come into 
the house and please get me a piece of bread and 
butter — if it isn’t time for tea, Mammy — please.” 

“Dat I will,” replied the old woman, rising stiffly. 
“An’ I’ll put sugar on it too. I reckon we can af- 
ford sugar to-day.” 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 


In a country that is called new, there was a great 
new city, and in the city, among many others, a 
high white building, and in the building there was 
a room wherein sat a Man-Who-Was-Rich. 

The room was most beautiful, though only in 
a stiff, uncomfortable sort of way, because it had 
been made for business, and not pleasure. 

There was a heavy carven desk, and a heavy 
carven table, and heavy carven chairs upright and 
hard. 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich sat before his desk 
with his overcoat on, for the room was cold. He 
had turned the collar up to his ears, and his face 
wore an expression not pleasant. Bushy gray eye- 
brows drawn together, and a close-shut mouth ac- 
counted chiefly for the expression — that is out- 
wardly, although his eyes were of a flinty-gray and 
inclined to be cynical at the best of times. But 
only extreme discomfort could loosen his tongue, 
and he was suffering from discomfort now. 

A thin veil of gray lay over furniture and floor. 
It blurred the windows where a film of frost did 

not creep across them. It lay an impalpable thing 
140 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 141 

on the gilded steam pipes; it showed faintly on 
ledger and day-book. 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich glanced around with 
an exclamation of annoyance. At that moment 
the great office door opened and a brisk sort of 
little man stepped in. 

“Didn’t hear me ring, so I just came along to 
see if you were down,” he said chirpily. 

“Beastly weather — eh, what ?— Oh, yes ! I know 
— I know. Weather doesn’t count with you. But 
conditions might, now? — Conditions. No coal — 
plumbing on the rocks — roads simply awful — trains 
blocked — everything on the bias! Might as well 
lock up, eh? — Blizzard going strong still,” glancing 
at the window. 

“I shall stop down-town my usual hours, Jen- 
kins,” answered the Man-Who-Was-Rich. Then 
as an afterthought, “Have you seen the woman 
who dusts?” 

“Not for days,” he returned. “She hadn’t the 
sense to send a substitute either. So thoughtless. 
But I cheer myself with Wilde’s philosophy — 
Oscar Wilde, you know. You remember his 
classic? ‘Remove not Dust! It is the bloom of 
the Ages!’ Pretty thought, eh?” 

The other smiled grimly. “That fakir!” he said. 

“From my point of view, genius !” laughed J en- 
kins. “Well, good-by till the weather becomes civ- 


142 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


ilized. Horribly cold in here ! Look out for pneu- 
monia, old man. Horribly cold! — Seem to be get- 
ting up a bit of steam though. — Bye-bye.” 

The door closed. A metallic clicking followed. 
A spasmodic symphony from the gilded pipes. 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich rose and shook him- 
self, as though from a sudden icy wave. 

“Outrageous!” he said. “Outrageous — in such 
a building. There is no excuse!” He touched a 
bell, pushed it harder, waited. No one answered, 
so he sat down heavily at the desk again. A quick 
step came along the hall. A knock. 

“Come in!” he called. 

An office-boy entered — a boy in his early teens — 
with the quick movements, the keen face and the 
sharp tongue of one who had learned early to fend 
for himself. He wore the blue clothes and brass 
buttons so beloved of his kind, and he carried a 
dust cloth that apparently he loathed. 

Ducking his head with more deference than he 
usually accorded, he swept his eye around the neg- 
lected room. 

“I come in to dust, sir,” he explained. “Don’t 
want to disturb you — but the dust-lady ain’t been 
’round these three bad days.” 

“What detains her?” questioned the man shortly. 

“Couldn’t say, sir,” the boy replied, busy with 
the despised rag. “Coal is short on the East Side, 


E QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 143 


I hear. Mebby she ain’t had her share. The bliz- 
zard’s been sump thin fierce. Mebby she jest 
couldn’t climb through.” 

“Perhaps not,” admitted the other. 

“Yes, sir,” said the boy. 

No sound followed but the disjointed clicking 
of the pipes. 

“Where is the janitor?” queried the Man irri- 
tably, breaking in on the pipes. 

“Got a swelled knee from somethin’,” said the 
boy. “In bed, sir.” 

“Oh!” answered the Man. 

“Yes, sir,” assented the boy. Then he volun- 
teered a few words. 

“Isn’t much doin’. Most of the offices closed 
to-day, sir, — froze out. Bells on this flat on the 
blink. Some of the gentlemen couldn’t get down, 
I guess. Traffic blocked most everywhere.” 

“I got down all right,” said the Man. 

“Elevated?” inquired the boy. 

“Certainly not, — my car,” was the reply. 

“Oh, yes, sir,” he answered. 

About all the gray bloom was gone now, and the 
boy stood by the shut door. He grinned cheer- 
fully. 

“Anything else, sir?” 

“No — ” he said shortly. “No, thanks.” 

“I’ll look in about noon,” he volunteered. 


144 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Guess you expect your two clerks, don’t you, 
sir?” 

“I have been expecting them all morning,” an- 
swered the Man-Who-Was-Rich. The words were 
bitten off. 

“Yes, sir,” nodded the boy. “Too bad, sir, — 
but,” hopefully, “mebby it’s a good day fer them to 
be off. All the mail trains delayed, you know. 
Electric an’ telephone wires jest naturally took 
this time to strike work too. Ain’t no excuse I can 
see.” 

“I wondered at the silence,” remarked the other, 
looking up. “Underground wiring too — absolutely 
absurd to have them out of order. Are they work- 
ing at them, do you know?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the boy. “Cold work too, 
sir, — down below zero.” 

“I imagine so,” he assented. 

“Yes, sir. Well, I’ll be in at noon to see if you 
need me.” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich heard the light steps 
swing along the hall. Silence returned. The 
pipes had ceased clicking, but accomplished little. 

An hour passed. The Man decided to go home, 
then remembering his car was ordered for four, and 
that the telephone was useless, decided not to go. 
At best, he detested the Elevated, and the Elevated 
at noon and on such a day was anathema. 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 145 

Lunch would be a break, though. He concluded 
to take lunch early; there was a place two blocks 
away where he often dropped in. 

Turning up his coat collar higher, he went out. 
An icy sleet stung his face, and the wind between 
the high buildings almost carried him off his feet. 
Drifts of snow swirled along the pavements, and 
where the asphalt was uncovered it was of a slip- 
periness unbelievable. A man going headlong 
across the street knocked against him heavily, and 
he fell. 

When he got up he felt shaken from head to 
foot. With an exclamation of rage he retraced his 
steps slowly to the tall building. Every joint in 
his body seemed racked. He was dizzy from the 
fall, and now the beating sleet made him see red. 

For a moment the Man-Who-Was-Rich clearly 
realized that he was no longer young. He took the 
elevator up to his office, shook himself free from 
snow and sat down again at his desk. 

Presently came the quick steps of the office boy, 
and his knock. 

“Come in!” answered the Man, rather eagerly. 

The boy came in. He was a cheerful boy. 

“Shall I fetch you some sandwiches, sir?” he 
asked. 

“Why, yes — you may,” consented the Man. 

“All right, sir,” he nodded. 


146 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


When he returned he bore a small J apanese tray 
whereon was a tumbler, a bottle of milk and a blue 
plate decorated with four good-sized sandwiches. 

“Light fare, sir,” he grinned, “but jest better’n 
goin’ out in the blizzard — ” 

“Much better — thanks,” assented the Man-Who- 
Was-Rich. 

“Yes, sir. Shall I go now, sir — or is there any- 
thing else — ” 

“Oh, you may stop a moment,” said the other. 
“I will see presently.” 

He ate a sandwich. Another. Another. Then 
the last. Also he drank the milk. 

“They are very good,” he remarked then, “these 
sandwiches. Better than any I remember for — 
for quite a while.” 

The boy grinned. “Me mother made them, sir,” 
he explained. “There’s jest her an’ me. I got the 
milk by luck.” 

“Your mother made them?” he questioned 
harshly. “Have I taken your lunch?” 

“Oh, no, sir!” he laughed. “Only a bit of it. I 
got plenty left.” 

“Well, it was decidedly good of you,” said the 
Man. Taking some coins from his pocket, he held 
them out. The boy shook his head. 

“No — no, thank you, sir,” he said. “Me mother 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 147 


made them sandwiches, so I guess they were hers. 
She’s got queer ideas — on — on hospitalities.” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich slipped the coins back 
in his pocket. He looked the boy over. 

“Where do you take your lunch?” he asked. 
“And are you sure you have enough left?” 

“Sure. Yes, sir!” he replied. “Us office fel- 
lers get our lunch together all in one room. Bring 
it with us — you know. Say, we have a pretty gay 
time! We have an hour. We divvy up lunch 
mostly. Then we have shows. But I guess you 
wouldn’t be interested?” 

“Go on,” said the Man. 

“Half-hour shows, sir; any feller that can do a 
song or dance or give a monerlogue — ” 

“What is the lunch hour?” asked the Man. 

“12:30 to 1:30,” he nodded. “It’s 12:20 now,” 
taking a Waterbury out of his pocket. 

“Ah, indeed,” said the Man-Who-Was-Rich. 
“And to-day — what do you have to-day by way of 
entertainment, for instance?” 

“The Egyptian,” he answered. “The Egyptian, 
sir.” 

“I don’t understand exactly,” remarked the other. 
“I thought you gave these — these affairs your- 
selves. The office-boys. Talent might be de- 
veloped that way, one would suppose.” 


148 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Oh, yes, sir, we do give them,” he assented. 
“But the Egyptian blew in, an’ needed the coin, 
so we let him go ahead. He’s great, too!” 

“What are his tricks, — this Egyptian?” ques- 
tioned the Man-Who-Was-Rich, a slight vibration 
of interest in his voice. “Sleight-of-hand? Snake- 
charming — the Mango-flower or imitation of it — 
that sort of thing?” 

“Oh, no, sir! He tells stories,” explained the 
office-boy. 

“Quite likely,” acquiesced his listener. “Most of 
them do, the Orientals — and so on.” 

The boy looked puzzled, then smiled. 

“Yer wrong, sir. It’s yarns he tells. Jest 
yarns, ye know. About things that sort of couldn’t 
be. Made-up ones you wisht was true. Rabian- 
Night stuff. He keeps you jumpy to know how 
they are goin’ to pan out.” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich raised his gray eye- 
brows. 

“Oh, I see,” he said. “But to get such an effect 
from a lot of practical boys, why, he must be an 
artist, one would say? Where does he come from 
— this Egyptian fellow?” 

“Down round by the East River, sir. He lives 
among the Turks an’ Armenians an’ Dagoes 
that wear turbans when they get here, mostly, or 
fezzes.” 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 149 

“Oh,” smiled the other. “In some foreign 
quarter.” 

“Yes, sir. I’ve heard he works at beaten metal. 
I met him once with his old father. Taller’n him 
yet, sir, fer all his age. I bet you, sir, you would 
think that old man was a thousand years old ! He’s 
got a white beard like — like Niagara Falls!” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich laughed. It was a 
long time since he had laughed that way. 

“Indeed!” he nodded then. “Quite an apt de- 
scription. So this Egyptian, son of the ancient 
party, is coming to-day to tell you office-boys im- 
possible yarns — is he?” 

“Yes, sir,” he answered. Then as by inspira- 
tion, “Would you like to come along and hear him, 
sir? Kinder dull on this flat. Won’t you come 
along?” 

The Man glanced around. It was dull. A 
silent telephone, frost-clouded windows. He 
turned to the office-boy. 

“Why, thanks, — I think I will,” he replied. 

“We’ll be on our way, then, sir,” said the boy with 
alacrity. 

They went down the echoing halls. The boy 
took the stairs, and the Man-Who-Was-Rich fol- 
lowed; after an almost incredible descent they en- 
tered a narrow passage and passed into a darkish 
room with court windows. About a dozen boys 


150 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


were gathered around an open grate fire. A coal 
fire, red and bright. The place was warm. 

“They let us have the grate lit at noon, sir,” ex- 
plained the boy, “for the pipes don’t do much busi- 
ness in this room.” 

The Man seemed to find this satisfactory. They 
all rose and nodded to him, making way as he ap- 
proached. His boy brought a chair for him over 
by the warmth. There were wooden chairs and a 
wooden table in the room. 

“An open fire was pleasant,” the Man-Who- 
Was-Rich remarked to him as he sat down. 

“Yes, sir,” he agreed. The other seemed over- 
awed and their voices died to whispers. 

“This sooth-sayer of yours?” questioned the Man, 
“Has he arrived?” 

“Oh, the Egyptian?” grinned the boy. “I hear 
him outside now a-shakin’ the snow off. We can 
take an extra bit of time to-day, most all the offices 
bein’ closed but yours, sir.” 

“I should consider mine closed also,” he answered. 

The boy acquiesced. “Here comes Abydos 
Khon!” he said. Then sotto voce, “It’s only when 
he’s up against it we can get him, sir. We mostly 
take up a collection before he begins an’ hand it in.” 

“Ah, indeed,” said the Man-Who-Was-Rich. 

The door swung open, and into the fire-lit room 
a man entered. 


iTHE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 151 

The boys all saluted him noisily, and he bowed 
to all collectively, but impressively. 

To the man by the fire he paid no attention. The 
boys only were his employers. 

“This is Mr. Mavor — John W. Mavor,” an- 
nounced the office-boy to him. Then “Mr. Mavor, 
meet Abydos Khon!” 

They bowed rather ceremoniously, and looked at 
each other. The Egyptian saw a tall heavy man, 
worn of face and gray of hair. A man of poise, a 
perfect product of his time. 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich saw one who seemed 
to belong to other places, and other days. His 
face, unmarked and young, was of an almost flaw- 
less beauty of feature. His eyes were strangely 
luminous, and his hair thick but silvery white. He 
wore it cropped about his ears as a child’s hair is 
often cropped. On his feet were high boots of 
brown leather — the uncouth boots of Russian 
peasants, and he wore a heavy cloak of coarse brown 
woolen stuff. This cloak was fastened about the 
waist by a leather belt with a silver buckle. It 
was hooded and had wide sleeves. Almost it gave 
the impression of being the surtout of some holy 
order. 

Having greeted all, the Egyptian sprang lightly 
onto the table. There he sat cross-legged in the 
old, old fashion of the East. He smiled at the cir- 


152 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


cle of young faces, but gravely. So far he had not 
spoken. 

One boy took a cap from its peg and passed it 
around until twelve dimes were collected. Then he 
threw in his own. The Man-Who-Was-Rich held 
out his contribution; a large piece of silver. 

The boy shook his head. “No, thank you, sir,” 
he said. “You are a guest. We have one now and 
then — mostly boys from the other buildings. But 
it’s understood. Abydos Khomis always satisfied.” 

Sweeping the silver into his hand he gave it to 
the Egyptian who placed it in some pocket of his 
surtout. No atom of his dignity was lost. He 
bowed including all. Then the boys gathered 
closer to the table, their brass buttons twinkling 
with every movement of their restless young bodies. 
Settling down they turned expectant faces towards 
Abydos Khon. They had overcome their first 
shyness of John W. Mavor, and he felt he had lost 
any formidable aloofness. Besides the story-teller 
only was the man of the hour. 

Abydos Khon sat very still. His face shone in 
the fire-light, as though cast in bronze. The sil- 
very hair had a metallic glitter; the silver buckle 
on his belt gleamed against his rough cloak. His 
hands were folded together in a repose unspeakable, 
and his whole body was a thing set in perfect calm. 

But though he might have posed for the figure of 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 153 

a graven image, from his eyes looked out a spirit as 
of living flame. When every face was turned to- 
wards him the Egyptian spoke, and his voice was 
low, but clear as temple-bells at twilight. 

There was no flaw in his English, but a cadence 
and rhythm separated it from all English the Man- 
Who-Was-Rich had hitherto heard. 

He leaned forward in his chair to listen. 

The Egyptian began slowly, his face rapt.as in a 
dream. 

“I will relate to you, my little ones,” he said, “the 
story of the Queen’s Tear-Bottle. 

“It is a most ancient story, being handed down 
from the priests of the Temple of Amen-Ra — the 
Lord of the Sun and the Horizon — unto this day. 

“It has been written upon the stones of the walls 
of palaces, and enrolled upon illuminated papyrus. 
It has been painted in imperishable colors on the 
Sarcophagus of a King. It has been told by word 
of mouth, and sung and chanted; and made into a 
dance also, — a dance of death and tears. It has 
been played by players before light-hearted court 
people, and it has been woven into books of 
romance. 

“But the time is short, and I cannot give it to 
you as it should be given, with flowers of speech 
and music of lute and string, and colored lights 
and golden tapestries and the scent of incense. 


154 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Nay, with my poor voice only can the story be told. 
So of your kindness have patience if it unfolds not 
to your liking. 

“Now, in the rich days of Egypt before the gods 
of different strengths were dead, — when the Pha- 
raohs were on the throne, and Karnak was a city — 
when the Israelites were slaves, and the priests, my 
far-off kinsmen, made burnt-offerings to Amen-Ra 
and the little gods, his satellites, there was a 
mighty King in Egypt. 

“Great was this King, and greatly to be feared. 
Yet he was just, and well beloved of his people. 
His bowmen and spearmen and charioteers were 
as the sands of the sea, and his tame war-lions were 
many. Also he owned slaves from every country 
and his camels and herds were legion. His palaces 
shone with amber and beaten silver, and his silken 
tents had walls of embroidery ; while the arabesques 
upon the hangings were set in jewels and there were 
golden bells above the curtained doors. Vast were 
his treasures and hidden in many places. Chests of 
gems, and bags of coin, and boxes of attar of rose 
and ointments of the Orient. 

“But of all this mighty King’s possessions, he 
loved but one thing only, and that was his wife, 
Aureanta. Not in the East and not in the West 
had one been found so beautiful. In the South 
she knew no rival. But they had brought her cap- 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 155 


tive to the King from the far North — so of the 
North one might not speak, for the Queen averred 
that others there had no less beauty than she. 

“Thereafter many princes journeyed to the 
North — but this is beside my story. 

“Yet although Aureanta had been brought cap- 
tive to Egypt, she was the daughter of a northern 
prince whose army had been overthrown. 

“Although they called her but a beautiful bar- 
barian, she was versed in many things new and 
strange in the land of the desert, and looked and 
seemed a very princess, even from the day she 
came bound to Egypt. 

“When the King saw her he marveled at her white 
and golden beauty, — for her skin was as the leaf 
of the white lotus, and her hair gold as a wheat- 
field in the sun. 

“And the King loved her madly and made her 
his wife against all the counsels of his wisest men, 
and readers of the stars, — as indeed is the way of 
Kings. 

“But the Queen Aureanta loved him as well. 
Therefore, in spite of the wise men there was joy 
and dancing at the wedding feast, and no shadow 
rested upon the land of Egypt for many days. It 
was the time of roses, and the young King and 
Queen were often seen walking in their garden be- 
neath the palms. And the people, so seeing them, 


156 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


were happy, for it is a beautiful thing to look on 
youth and love and summer weather. 

“Yet this is but earth, and so trouble approached. 
Dark as a cloud that blots out the sun it came nearer 
and nearer on silent wings. 

“For reasons no man could tell, the gods 
seemed angry, and sacrifices were offered to them 
in the temples by day and by night. The smoke 
of them blackened the air incessantly ; the sound of 
incantations and prayers was never still. The 
Temple-bells rang from dawn to dark. But it 
availed not. The gods were angry. It seemed 
they liked not to look upon too great joy. Rumors 
of wars were on the wind, and wars broke out. 
Little wars at first, and then those that were greater. 

“From Asia came the Persians, hordes and 
mighty hordes of them, and the tribes of the Hit- 
tites — long the enemies of Egypt — and these 
banded together. Then also the Bedouins joined 
their train, and out-law Arabs who knew no ruler, 
but were beyond all grace. 

“The King of Egypt gathered his bowmen, and 
spearmen, and took his army of sworded chariots, 
and swiftly made dread battle upon these, the on- 
coming foes ; and he pressed them back the way they 
had come, though the road ran red with blood and 
was salted by the bones of the fallen. 

“With bows and arrows and two-edged spears 


THE QUEEN’S TEAK-BOTTLE 157 


and catapults they fought, and also with liquid fire 
and the sworded chariots that mowed the battalions 
down as grain. 

“The Great Gates of the walled city wherein 
the Queen and the people remained, were fast 
closed. 

“No one might enter, and none go out save only 
the King’s runners. 

“Outside the walls many smaller enemies camped 
awaiting the day when perchance they might break 
in and pillage and kill and bear away slaves. 

“Still to the borders of the sea the King pursued 
his enemies, and the battle raged by night and day. 

“Throughout Egypt the wells had been poisoned, 
and the people on the little farms died by hundreds, 
and the food grew less and less and pestilence was 
on the air. 

“In the palace within the city walls the young 
Queen from the North sat among her terrified 
maidens. She had put away her robes of beauty 
and wore a woolen mourning gown of white, girdled 
at the waist with woolen cord only, and her golden 
hair was unbound. 

“As they were there together, a sound of running 
came over the mosaic floors of the palace, and a 
youth entered, panting and spent, the dust thick 
upon him. 

“He threw himself at the Queen’s feet* ‘What 


158 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 

now, Cresta?’ she cried, trembling. ‘Oh, quickly! 
Tell me what news has brought you thus spent and 
troubled P 

“ ‘The battle still rages on the border, your 
Majesty ; but to-day we lose and the King hath been 
wounded — yet not grievously. He sent me that 
you might not by chance hear worse report, and 
also to bear to you his love.’ 

“She stooped and touched the boy. ‘Rise!’ she 
said, ‘O dear runner. Return to the King. Tell 
him I catch my falling tears in the crystal bottle he 
gave to me. They fall through all the hours of his 
absence. Tell him I will lay them on the altar of 
the gods as my sacrifice. — Bear to him also my eter- 
nal love.’ 

“The runner departed, and the Queen sank back 
upon her floor-cushions. From beneath the woolen 
folds above her heart she took a crystal bottle, and 
as her tears fell they were caught and held within it. 
Many and bitter were her tears, and long they fell. 
All through the day they fell ceaselessly, and 
through the night, for she thought of the battle 
lost, and the King wounded and spent. 

“But on the morning of the next day an old, old 
minister of State came to the Queen. 

“ ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, in his quavering voice. 
‘The people need bread. There is indeed wheat in 



“Return to the King. Tell him I catch my falling tears in the crystal 

bottle he gave to me.” 






THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 159 

the city, but the people have no money wherewith 
to buy it.’ 

“Then the Queen called her maids-of-honor. 
‘Bring all my jewels,’ she commanded, ‘and my 
golden ornaments, and all my coin stamped with the 
King’s seal.’ 

“This they did and laid them at her feet. The 
Queen gave them to the Minister of State, sealed 
in caskets and held in leathern hags — and she sum- 
moned her pages to help him bear them away. 

“ ‘Take them,’ she said, ‘to the dealers in wheat, 
that they may be paid. Give the wheat to the 
people, and deal fairly by them every one.’ 

“So this was done, and again the Queen wept. 

“Then once more came the Minister of State. 
‘O your Majesty!’ he said. ‘The wells are empty. 
All save the royal wells. Where shall the people 
go for water?’ 

“ ‘Bid them come to the royal wells, O my friend,’ 
she answered. ‘Bid them fill their pitchers as long 
as water remains. See it is done in fairness to all, 
each one separately.’ 

“So he departed, and again the Queen wept. 

“The little maids-of-honor who were frightened, 
wept also, but could not take her for a moment from 
her grief. 

“And once again the man of State came to the 


160 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Queen, and he said: ‘O wonderful Queen, there is 
dread illness among the people. They fall upon 
the streets; the little children fall, and the old men 
and women. There are but few to nurse or care 
for them so many are stricken/ 

“Then the young Queen rose, and said, ‘Bring 
all within the palace that can be cared for here. 
My servants being well shall feed and wait upon 
them. I myself will go down into the city and help 
those whom I find; and with roe I will take three 
of my pages to carry baskets of bread and wine and 
medicines, and fresh garments.’ 

“So she went abroad in the city, and by night 
and day forgot her grief in ministering to those who 
had fallen into the illness of death. And some 
mended and grew well again, and some died, but 
the Queen did not leave them. 

“Then one day having kept long watch by the 
dying, she herself fell into a faint, and the runner 
of the King came once more, and found her so, and 
stayed by her until her heart beat again. 

“Eagerly she looked up into his face and caught 
his hands. ‘O dear runner!’ she cried. ‘What 
news? What news of my Lord the King? Speak 
quickly!’ Her eyes shone and color came once 
more into her face. But the young runner had no 
words. ‘Quickly !’ she commanded again. ‘O dear 
runner!’ 


THE QUEEN S TEAR-BOTTLE 161 

“ ‘The battle is over and done,’ he told her, ‘and 
the day is ours !’ 

“She drew a deep breath of gladness, ‘Most 
glorious news!’ she cried. ‘But what of my Lord 
the King? What news of him?’ 

“The runner bowed his head. ‘The King has 
passed on and into the land of peace,’ he answered. 

“For a little while she replied nothing. Then 
the boy, looking up, saw she smiled. ‘Now, O good 
runner,’ she said, ‘methinks all is told indeed. 
Naught is left for me but to go out and meet my 
Master the King. Doth he return along the road 
of battles?’ 

“ ‘Ay!’ answered the runner. ‘By the very road 
he went. His scarred battalions and his war-lions 
come with him also triumphant, and they bring with 
them the captives, in legions far as the eye can 
see.’ 

“Hearing this the Queen called her tiring women, 
and bade them array her in her robes of State and 
put pomegranate flowers in her hair. Also she 
sent the heralds to trumpet the news of Victory 
from the city walls, 

“And before she set out in her golden litter to 
meet those who returned from war, she went to the 
Temple of Amen-Ra, the Lord of the Sun and the 
Horizon. 

“There the High Priests greeted her. She 


162 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


smiled upon them even as she had smiled upon the 
young runner. 

“ T do not come to pray, O most High Servants 
of the Gods,’ she said. T come but to lay my 
offering of tears upon the Altar. I had forgotten 
when the people fell sick and died that I had prom- 
ised my tears as an offering of sacrifice. I even 
forgot to weep, O Holy Ones. They were so piti- 
ful, the little children, and the old who fell ill, that 
if I wept at all it was for them, and I forgot to catch 
the tears for fee Gods. I pray you ask them to for- 
give me; and take you this crystal bottle — which 
alas! is but half-way filled, for some tears were lost 
— and lay it at the feet of Amen-Ra. ’Tis now a 
thank-offering only — for the great war hath ended. 
A thank-offering, and not a sacrifice as it should 
have been, O Holy Ones.’ 

“So the priests bowed and took from her hand 
the crystal tear-bottle, promising to present it to 
the God of the Sun, and she was satisfied. But 
again she spoke. 

“ ‘Bless me, my fathers, and send thy blessing to 
the King of Egypt, for having conquered, he re- 
turns.’ 

“With uplifted hands they blessed her and she 
departed. But not knowing the King was dead 
the priests wondered at the whiteness of her face, 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 163 

and the glory of her robes — which were ceremonial 
robes and heavy with much gold. 

“The litter-bearers bore the Queen onward until 
they met the triumphant legions of Egypt. 

“At their head was carried the body of the King 
upon the linked shields of his guard, and beside the 
shields walked the greatest of the tame war-lions. 
They lowered the bier at the Queen’s approach, 
and she stepped from her litter and knelt in the sand 
beside it. The mighty warriors of the guard won- 
dered at her that she did not weep. 

“ ‘So you return to me in triumph, O My Lord!’ 
she said, as though he heard. ‘ ’Tis joy to meet 
thee. Thy people have been sore beset, and very 
pitiful. But all I could do, O most dear — I have 
done. It was but little, and I forgot to lay my 
sacrifice of tears upon the altar of Amen-Ra. 
Quite forgot, until word came of thy victory. Now 
it must serve but for a thank-offering. The 
priests have promised to offer it thus with incanta- 
tions and praise, that the gods may be content and 
not angry with us any more. Perchance we were 
too happy — and thereby forgot them in our hearts.’ 

“Gently she stooped and laid her lips against his 
face that had still the dust of battle upon it. As 
she did not rise, and the moments passed, the guards 
looked into each other’s eyes, and were troubled, 


164 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


thinking she had fainted. Then one bolder than 
the rest, lifted her up. And they saw her spirit 
was no longer in her body, but had hastened on to 
overtake that of her Lord the King of Egypt, so 
that it might journey with him into the land of 
Peace. 

“The High Priests laid the tear-bottle on the 
altar at the feet of Amen-Ra as they had promised. 
There it lay, O my little ones, amid the daily 
offerings of fresh flowers, for many, many, many 
years. 

“When the city long afterwards was burned and 
sacked and the temples destroyed, an aged priest 
took the token from the desecrated altar of the Sun- 
God, to bear it away. And, behold! The tears 
within the crystal had by some miracle turned into 
a jewel the wonder of which no tongue can tell! 

“There it shone with serene rays of light, that 
all might see and marvel. Moreover, that time- 
worn priest secreted the token, and at his death 
gave it to another, and though the temples were 
laid waste, yet has the Queen’s Tear-Bottle been 
passed down from one to another of that priestly 
line unto this very day.” 

In the fire-lit room there was silence, and one 
boy after another roused as from a spell. The 
Egyptian rose and stepped to the floor with the 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 165 

light spring of youth. He too was as one who had 
come out of a dream. 

“Thanks, Abydos Khon!” the boys called. 
“That was a good story! Some story, Abydos 
Khon!” One after another they registered their 
approval by word of mouth, and so scattered in 
different directions, shaking from them rather 
gladly, perhaps, the mystic impression of his words, 
and making for the world they belonged to. So 
youth can escape quickly from one condition to an- 
other. But age is not so. 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich got up stiffly from his 
chair beside the hearth, and approaching the hooded 
figure of Abydos Khon as He was about to depart, 
touched him on the arm. 

The Egyptian turned and looked into the cynical 
eyes of John Mavor. 

“Who are you, Abydos Khon?” he asked. 

“Why should I think you would believe me if I 
told?” he questioned with a smile. 

“Why not?” said the other. 

“Because you do not easily believe,” returned 
the Egyptian. 

“Are you then so extraordinary a man one could 
not give credit to your identity?” Mavor asked with 
cold politeness. 

“That is as it may be,” said Abydos Khon. “But 


166 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


I will try your faith. I am — of the old line of the 
Pharaohs 1” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich gazed at the strong 
young figure before him, at the beautiful face that 
might have been cast in bronze, the eyes from which 
shone out the flame of the soul within, the thick 
white hair, white as a thing grief -stricken; the 
patrician hands of such vast repose. 

No, it was not difficult to believe that he came of 
a race of Kings. But the Pharaohs ! 

“What proof have you of what you claim to be ?” 
questioned the Man-Who-Was-Rich. 

Abydos Khon smiled, and the smile was like a 
light. 

“Ah l” he returned. “I was right. You have no 
faith. Well — what does it matter? Yet this 
much I will say. My people of Egypt do not aver 
their line of birth unless they have proof thereof. 
The birth records are sacred — but not for every idle 
and curious eye to see.” He waved his hands 
lightly as though dismissing the subject. Then, 
bowing deeply, turned to the door. 

But the Man caught him by the arm again. 

“Wait,” he said in his clear-cut voice. “Wait, 
Abydos Khon. I am not done with my questions 
— though of course you may not answer. I desire 
to know a thing or two regarding your statements 
in the little story. A strange story, Abydos Khon, 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 167 

and akin to those of the Bible we were bidden to be- 
lieve in our childhood. No whit stranger than these 
most true stories, and very beautiful. Therefore, 
tell me — what of the Queen’s Tear-Bottle you as- 
sured your credulous audience had come down to 
this day? Was that truth or polite fiction? What 
of the jewel it held — a jewel compounded of tears, 
as you told us? Why go so far into particulars? 
Why drag in miracles or enchantments ? It did not 
seem necessary.” 

Abydos Khon regarded him steadily. Beneath 
the brown hood — that was like a friar’s hood — his 
eyes were as stars. About him clung the calm of 
the East. It enfolded him as an intangible gar- 
ment. For a moment he stood so; then bowed. 

“I admit your right to question,” he said, “and it 
is my pleasure to answer. The story as I told it, 
is true — if we may believe any story so handed 
down. It has come with little variation through 
the priests of the temples that belong to days that 
are very far off. Some stories are so wondrous, 
so lovely, they carry the power of conviction. 
Nothing can be added to them or taken away that 
would not mar their perfection. This every man 
that hears them acknowledges. Therefore in the 
chronicles and repetitions they remain unchanged 
and they seem to need no proof. Yet of this story, 

I alone, of all the living, have a proof.” From the 


168 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


inner folds of his cloak above his heart, he drew a 
crystal vial. In the dim room it shone with a soft 
radiance. He held it out. 

“Look!” he said in his bell-like voice. “Look! 
It is the Queen’s Tear-Bottle!” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich started, his eyes fixed 
on the shining thing ; then he reached out and took it 
with his own hand, but with an incredulous smile. 

“Oh, come!” he exclaimed. “Oh, come now! You 
can hardly expect one to credit this. To accept it 
as genuine, you know, or connect it with your very 
wonderfully recited story.” 

The Egyptian shook his silvery head. “One 
does not look for credence in the hard-to-believe. 
Not at least here, in the City of Money. It may 
be the boys believed while they listened. Perhaps 
they still believe. But you — you are different. A 
product of your time and city. Still at the least, I 
will leave with you food for thought. Hold the 
bottle to the fire-light.” 

The other did so and looked long. It was a 
lovely thing he held, and made of a transparent 
crystal luminous in places as though flecked with 
phosphorus. The mouth of the bottle was wide 
and flaring, but the neck slender and long. Below, 
it was delicately curved, and at the base so rounded 
it could not be set upright. 

The stopper seemed made of a single opal, and 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 169 


was cut and threaded as a screw is threaded, so only 
by turning could it be fitted to its place. When 
once fitted it held perfectly, and nothing could es- 
cape, not even vapor. 

The Man-Who-Was-Rich turned the bottle a 
little this way and that, against the red fire-light, for 
within something rolled softly from side to side 
against the crystal. 

“By all that is mysterious!” he exclaimed 
again. “There is a jewel within it! A pearl, — 
perhaps; no, brighter than a pearl. A diamond? 
Not so brilliant. An opal — possibly an opal. 
How marvelous! For the jewel, or whatever it is, 
is far too large to have fallen into the bottle. Like 
the camel and the needle’s eye there was no pos- 
sibility of entrance. A curiosity certainly. A 
puzzle of some sort, no doubt, originally. A puz- 
zle yet, for that matter.” He held it out to the 
Egyptian. 

“What is this thing?” he questioned, a note of 
annoyance in his voice. “I want the truth.” 

“I have told you,” Abydos Khon responded 
quietly. “It is the Queen’s Tear-Bottle. The 
Queen Aureanta. Within is the jewel — as far as 
man can see — made of her tears. By what magic 
or miracle or fairy charm, who can say? Upon 
the bottle also is engraved the King’s sign — but 
time has almost effaced this. From the priests of 


170 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Amen-Ra the crystal was handed down. The 
brothers of the Pharaohs were oftentimes the High 
Priests, and through many hands it has reached 
mine,” he said, as though stating a fact easy to be- 
lieve. “But now — ” 

“Yes?” questioned the other. 

“Now the time has come to part with it. The 
old temples are dust, but the God of yesterday, 
to-day, and to-morrow needs them not. As for 
this token of past sorrow, I must possess it no 
longer.” 

“You mean?” again questioned the Man-Who- 
Was-Rich. 

“I mean we have fallen on evil days, I and my 
people. All is gone that we called our own. My 
father is old and needs many things. My little 
sister — who is beautiful — must be cared for. My 
brothers who are young cannot be cast upon the 
world unprepared. This must be now our country 
— a gracious country to the friendless — but we can- 
not come to it as supplicants, as beggars. I have 
been a translator of books — but one may starve 
while one works. Also I have a trade of metal 
working. But it brings one little. Little also have 
we to part with. Yet there is this one precious 
thing. I have thought the great Art Museum 
might take it from me and give in return what 


THE QUEEN S TEAR-BOTTLE 171 


my people need to set their feet firmly upon this new 
land.” 

The Man-Who~Was-Rich looked down at the 
crystal thing. His gray eyes still held their half- 
skeptical smile, and yet — the story was haunting 
in its loveliness. The softly rolling unnamed jewel 
within the bottle held him — even sent a thrill to his 
heart, his heart long unused to thrills. If the story 
should be true, he thought. 

He turned to Abydos Khon. 

“As this is for sale, I will buy it,” he said. 
“Come to my office.” They went together through 
the almost deserted building, and into the cold 
room. The very air was charged with the bus- 
iness affairs of to-day. No touch of sentiment lay 
on anything. 

Still holding the crystal, Mavor seated himself 
at his desk, drew out a check-book and lifted his pen 
to write. 

“How much?” he asked the Egyptian shortly. 

“That I do not know,” Abydos Khon said 
vaguely, shaking his young head. “Enough to 
bring my people comfort until the winter is past; 
to help them a little. That will be enough.” 

The Man-Who-Was-Rieh smiled grimly. “You 
are no merchantman, Abydos Khon,” he said. 
“Unlike your kindred, you bring your wares to 


172 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


market yet do not look for the highest bidder, nor 
set a price upon them. There is something lacking 
in you, my friend. But perhaps you are right. 
There is no price set upon tears — even tears that 
by some alchemy have been turned into a jewel. 
Also there can be no established value placed upon 
the rare, the very old, the perishable that has per- 
sisted where all else has passed. 

“It may be this antique would be worth a good 
deal more — or a good deal less — to the Museum. 
But I want it and will set my own price upon it, 
with your permission.” 

He drew the book to him, wrote the check, and 
handed it to Abydos Khon. The man’s hand 
trembled as he took the piece of paper. For once 
his calm slipped away, he gave a low cry, and 
dropped to his knees. Lifting the hand that had 
written the check, he touched it with his lips. 

“It is too great a sum!” he said brokenly. 

“No,” said the Man-Who-Was-Rich. “I think 
not.” 

The Egyptian looked up into the strong gray 
face, and understood that he was satisfied. 

“I thank you!” he cried. “O most kind one! 
The winter has been long — the ways of the land are 
new, we have known grief, I and my people, there 
has been little money. I thank you.” 

Rising, he took the Queen’s Tear-Bottle, bowed 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 173 

before it, and touched it to his forehead solemnly. 
Then gave it back. 

He pulled the cloak about him. 

Farewell,” he said. “Farewell. Abydos Khon 
will not forget.” 

The other smiled, but the smile was no longer 
hard. 

“Farewell to you also, O Son of the Pharaohs!” 
he answered. 

The heavy door opened, closed. Then the Man- 
Who-Was-Rich took the crystal bottle, slipped it 
into an inner pocket of his great-coat, reached for 
his hat and cane and went out. 

The wind smote him like a whip as he reached 
the street. The snow drifted and swirled in white 
hillocks. The traffic was blocked. No motor, he 
concluded, could get far. 

He struggled against the storm. But he was not 
thinking of the wind, nor the people who buffeted 
it beside him. His thoughts were traveling back to 
an old beleaguered city and a woman who wept. 
He saw her with the tear-bottle against her face. 
He saw her white mourning robes, her unbound 
yellow hair. She seemed strangely real. He saw 
her in the temple bringing her offering of tears. 
He saw her in her robes of State upon the scarred 
road whither she went to meet the dead King. 

Within his coat he felt the little precious crystal. 


174 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


His lips wore the old cynical expression for a 
moment. “I am a fool,” he said half-aloud. “A 
fool — a fool — ” But his face again changed, 
softened. “If it should be true — ” he whispered. 
“If it should — " 

Raising his eyes he saw he was passing a shop of 
antiquities. A well-known shop filled with the 
gleanings of centuries. 

Entering, he sought out an old clerk, as well- 
known as the place. The snow melted upon his 
head and shoulders unnoticed. He took the crys- 
tal from his coat and handed it to the old clerk. 

“Can you tell me what sort of curiosity this is?” 
he asked. 

The clerk turned the crystal bottle about, held 
it to a strong light, fastened upon his eye a 
powerful glass, and turned and returned the crystal 
before he spoke. 

“It is a tear-bottle,” he said at last. “An 
Egyptian tear-bottle. Yes. Genuine. Of the 
Dynasty of the Rameses II — III — I do not know. 
The sign is cut upon it — diamond cut — but almost 
entirely smoothed away by time. They are very 
rare, these. Oh, very. I have not seen quite such 
an one. What puzzles me is the jewel within. 
How did it come there ? Oh, you cannot say ? Ah ! 
There is no flaw in the crystal. It could not have 


THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE 175 

passed through that slender throat of glass. Have 
you an explanation, sir? No? Strange.” 

“I thank you for your opinion of the Antique,” 
said the Man-Who-Was-Rich, placing the bottle 
again within his pocket, and fastening his coat. 

“It has been a pleasure to see it,” answered the 
old clerk. “A great pleasure. Should you wish 
to part with it at any time, sir, we would be glad 
to consider — ” 

“No, thanks, no,” he answered, and went out 
again into the storm. 

But still fragments of the words of the Egyptian 
sounded in his ears, insistently. “Then came an 
ancient minister of state to the Queen — ‘Your 
Majesty, 5 he said, ‘the people need bread, there is 
wheat in the city — but they have no money to buy 
it. 5 Then the Queen called her maids-of-honor. 
‘Bring hither my jewels and golden ornaments, 5 
she commanded. ‘Take them to the dealers in 
wheat — see that they deal fairly with my people 
and give them bread. 5 

“Then came again the ancient minister. ‘The 
wells are empty, O Your Majesty, — where shall 
the people go for water to drink? 5 ‘Bid them come 
to the royal wells, 5 she answered, ‘and fill their 
pitchers so long as the water remains. 5 55 

On and on through the storm pressed the Man- 


176 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Who-Was-Rich. It beat against his body; but 
the words of the Egyptian beat still more against 
his soul. 

“And again the ancient minister of state came, 
and he said, ‘O wonderful Queen — there is dread 
illness among the people!’ And she commanded 
; her servants to bring them into the palace — and 
wait upon them; and she said, T will go down into 
the city and help those whom I find.’ And she 
went abroad and by day and night forgot her own 
grief in ministering to those who had fallen.” 

On and on the words pursued him, as though 
carried by the wind. 

“Then came the runner of the King. ‘O dear 
runner!’ she cried. ‘What news? What news of 
my Lord the King?’ And the runner bowed his 
head. ‘The King has passed on — into the land of 
Peace — ’ 

“ ‘Now — methinks all is told . . . naught is left 
for me but to meet my Master. . . .’ But before 
she set out, she went to the Temple of Amen- 
Ra. ... ‘I come not to pray — but to lay my 
offering of tears upon the altar.’ ” 

So the words haunted him. He bent before the 
wind and struggled onward. “If it were true,” 
he thought. His hand went against the crystal 
lying near his heart. 

Through the white smother of the snow he saw 


THE QUEEN S TEAR-BOTTLE 177 


a wide frosted window, and upon the white banner 
of the frost a lighted cross of red. 

Buffeted by the storm, he stopped and gazed at 
it. 

And it grew to be a new and wonderful sign in 
his eyes. The old hard look vanished out of them. 

“Little Queen,’' he said softly. “O little Queen 
of the faithful heart ! I would be worthy to follow 
you down into the city of the dead and dying. 
Worthy to be the keeper — even in this day — of the 
gift of tears you laid on the altar of the gods who 
are gone,” 


THE KING’S OPAL 


In the far-away days there lived a young king 
who ruled over a country in the desert. 

His kingdom was really a big oasis, but being 
in the middle of a sea of sand it has been lost. 

Little waves of sand crept over it and blotted 
it out as the waves of the ocean sometimes blot out 
a coral island. 

It took an unbelievably long time to do this, but 
the place is quite covered now. If one could dig 
down deep, and the sand did not keep slipping back 
into the hole, as it always does, one would by and 
by come upon the great city and the little towns 
that used to be ruled over by this king, and that 
were so overcrowded by people even as the places 
of the East are now. 

Nobody knows all the history of the young king 
by any means, but certain things regarding him 
have come to light, because of records the desert 
winds have uncovered. The story of the king’s 
opal is the one I know, and though it sounds ex- 
actly as though it had been made out of a dream, 
it is none the less interesting for that, anyone will 
admit; and this is the story: 

178 


THE KING’S OPAL 


179 


In the ancient oasis country the people were ex- 
ceedingly wise. The women were about as wise 
as the men, for they studied the same subjects. It 
was the law of the land that everyone should be 
educated, and they all were; to the last point of 
endurance. 

The things we know now and call new, for the 
most part they knew then, — which goes to prove 
that new things are really so old that they grew 
tiresome long ago, and were tucked away for 
a while and forgotten, or lost in what has been 
called “the mists of antiquity.” 

However, gradually they came out of the mists 
and were perfectly new again as far as anyone 
could tell. Perhaps in that distant time they even 
knew a little more than we do, for some precious 
things have disappeared forever, and these are 
named “The Lost Arts.” 

Well, anyway, in the King’s oasis the little girls 
when they grew up became doctors, lawyers, mer- 
chants and chiefs, just as the boys did. They were 
(men and women alike) iron-molders, horse- 
breakers, hod-carriers, etc., in the humble walks of 
life, and judges, bishops, field-marshals, and so on, 
in the walks that are not humble. 

In those days the women never talked about 
voting because they could vote whenever there was 
anything to vote about. Indeed, these people 


180 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


seem to have progressed as far as they could and 
then stopped progressing. As far as we know 
life went along pleasantly, if a trifle monotonously, 
on the big oasis that the little sand waves were 
creeping over. 

Now and again a learned man or woman would 
write a pamphlet telling how much sand was being 
slowly drifted in from the desert. But no one 
cared to hear, and the learned person always filed 
the pamphlet away, feeling that he (or she) was 
not appreciated. They invariably said that that 
was the way with prophets in their own country. 

The land did not look any smaller, and it was 
a green and pleasant place where palm trees and 
date trees grew in groves between the king’s city 
and the little towns. There were deep cool wells, 
and even a small lake near the center of the coun- 
try; a lake like a blue mirror. Its waters flowed 
from some hidden source, and it was known as 
The Lake of Mystery. 

Caravans always stopped at the outskirts of this 
oasis to buy and sell, and the people grew rich and 
contented — which is not good. 

They liked to think that conditions would go 
on for their children, and their children’s children 
this way forever. So the little creeping sand waves 
were banished as a conversational topic. 

Now strangely enough in that place of wise folk, 


THE KING’S OPAL 


181 


the king himself was not a great scholar. He was 
a soldier, and often waged war upon his enemies, 
the wandering tribes of Bedouins. These would 
have despoiled his country and plundered his herds 
of camels and flocks of sheep. So he had need 
to be a soldier. But he was also a musician and 
played melodies that were all his own, upon a slen- 
der pipe of gold; and these melodies were so sweet 
they came to be whistled and sung by his people. 
Indeed we may even hear one now and again in 
these days, for music outlives most things. 

Besides this, the King painted pictures of sim- 
ple things on the smooth, gray stone wall of his 
palace garden. The colors he ground himself, and 
made them into small paint-cakes. They were 
such colors as are not made now, for ours do not 
last so long. We know this because once in a 
while there blows a great wind, and a bit of the 
palace garden wall tossed up and across the desert 
still shows us colors glowing and vivid as though 
brushed on yesterday. 

And better than these things that amused the 
King’s idle hours were his gentle deeds — for he 
was good to the poor. 4 

Yes, the King painted pictures and played on 
his pipe, and looked to the happiness of his people 
and visited his flocks of sheep. But, with it all, 
between times he rode his Arab steed over the desert 


182 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


at the head of his army, — as was the fine way in 
those days, — and he pursued his enemies relent- 
lessly. Also he brought home the vanquished and 
turned them into slaves, which we cannot but regret. 

These things he did. 

As for studying books, not a book did he really 
study after he was fifteen, when the King his fa- 
ther had died and been embalmed, and he the prince 
came to the throne. 

His highly instructed subjects just had to make 
the best of it, and congratulate themselves, that 
having surrounded him early with most learned 
masters, he had acquired some knowledge in his 
fifteen years. 

Still among themselves they said he was a King 
with the tastes of a shepherd. 

Particularly the women, who were Professors, 
and Lawyers and Politicians and Bishops, would 
have had him different. They claimed that he could 
not discuss subjects intelligently with them. The 
court jester maintained that they should have said, 
“His Majesty would not discuss subjects intelli- 
gently with them,” and that, of course, is different. 

It was generally agreed, though, that His Royal 
Highness would gain more popularity by taking an 
interest in important affairs, than by blowing on 
his pipe (which was, after all, no more than a shep- 
herd’s pipe made of gold) or by mixing his little 


THE KING’S OPAL 


183 


paint-cakes, whose colors turned out to last so long. 

There was another characteristic of the King 
that was frowned on. Pie was superstitious. 

He had been heard to admit that he believed in 
fairies, and he would not start a journey on Friday. 
While everyone knew what happened to the Court 
Majordomo when thirteen persons were permitted 
to seat themselves at the royal table. 

But further, and most outrageous of all, His 
Majesty kept in his palace a crystal-gazer! 

This man, who was a foreigner and weird to 
look upon, came from Heaven knew where, and 
he had gained a great power over the King by 
reason of telling him the past and future from the 
pictures that — so he averred — rose in his ball of 
crystal. 

For the past — well, that was history and needed 
no telling; but queerly enough, what the strange 
man foretold often came to pass. This was beyond 
explanation, so, though the wise people condemned 
him among themselves as a charlatan and simple 
trickster, in secret they were overcome with more 
or less awe of him. As time went on the crystal- 
gazer became even less loved, but more feared. 
All would gladly have seen him banished from 
court, for his power over the young King grew 
to be dangerously great, and he and his magic ball 
were consulted on most affairs of state. 


184 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Now it was five years since the man had ap- 
peared upon the oasis. From which point of the 
compass, or by what manner he came none could 
say. He had appealed to no less a person than 
the King for patronage, and had found favor with 
His Majesty. Thereafter he was established at 
court as part of the royal suite. 

The crystal-gazer was a picturesque fellow, 
neither old nor young. Always he was clothed in 
black, and his figure was tall and strong. From 
his shoulders hung a great black cloak of many 
folds, but its inner side was shot with silver and 
blue and scarlet threads so in the wind it flamed 
like a butterfly’s wing. 

His face was as a carven face, dark and unread- 
able, but his eyes were like deep pools that held a 
golden light. About his head was bound a scarlet 
turban, and in his ears were golden hoops, while 
from his waist-belt hung a short glittering scimitar. 
There were those who said that if the people had 
not outgrown such ignorant fancies, they would 
have feared he had the evil eye, for never had they 
seen so strange a light in human eyes before. 

Only the children who met the man in his com- 
ings and goings did not fear him. He seemed to 
charm them in some silent way, for when he smiled 
they always followed after him until he gently 
waved them back, and then they would stand gaz- 


THE KING’S OPAL 


185 


ing wistfully' down the road where he had gone. 

At Court he could be vastly entertaining at the 
King’s desire, and at times related marvelous tales 
of lands beyond the sand. 

Still, he was tolerated rather than liked. But 
he went his way in unruffled quiet, and as long as 
he stood well with the King let the rest go. 

Now, in that country occasionally a great wind 
blew in from the desert, and it lasted many hours. 
It was called the Simoon. Before it came the light 
turned red, and the air was hot and very still. 
When it came it carried fine grains of sand instead 
of rain-drops ; sand that blinded the eyes and dried 
the throat. 

Then the people went into their houses an^ shut 
fast the windows and doors. The streets were as 
deserted as in times of plague. The beasts looked 
for shelter, all but the camels, and they lay with 
their backs to the wind and their heads stretched 
out with closed eyes. The dogs sometimes went 
mad if the wind lasted long, and always they 
howled dismally when the red light came that fore- 
told it. 

One of these hot winds had been blowing now 
for two days. The people fretted in their closed 
rooms, and the King in his white palace ringed 
round with date palms and gardens, grew irritable 
and restless. 


186 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


Often he insisted on having the palace windows 
opened for air, and then the sand blew in like a 
fine snow, sharp against the face, and they would 
have to be quickly closed again. 

All attempts now on the part of the court at- 
tendants to divert or amuse His Majesty entirely 
failed. In a polite way he conveyed to them the 
fact that they bored him utterly. 

The court dancers had danced, the court musi- 
cians had played, the court chess player had allowed 
himself to be checkmated several times by His 
Royal Highness, yet did not succeed in keeping 
him interested. 

The little court- jester had seen the witticisms 
especially reserved for such wearying weather, re- 
ceived in abstracted silence. The lords and ladies 
taking their cue from the King, had not even smiled. 

Then the jester, being young and hopeful, had 
recourse to tricks, and he had shaken his bells, 
turned catherine-wheels, and even rolled hoop- 
fashion round the great court drawing-room where 
they were all assembled. 

But all his antics had been in vain; so now he 
was curled up under a big shadowy fern, a small 
red and yellow parti-colored person of doleful 
countenance. 

From between the drooping fern leaves ne 


THE KING’S OPAL 


187 


watched the young King pacing up and down end- 
lessly over the wide rug-strewn mosaic floor. One 
at a time the court attendants had seemed to melt 
away, until now, late in the afternoon, of them 
all only the crystal-gazer and himself remained — 
and he was hidden under the fern near* an alcove 
hung with curtains. The crystal-gazer stood be- 
fore his crystal ball. It rested in a golden cup 
on top of an ebony pedestal, and gleamed like a 
small globe of pure light. 

The man had been looking down into it silently 
for a long time. 

He did not appear to notice the King’s restless 
walking, nor the soft withdrawal of the court folk. 

More and more shadowy grew the beautiful room. 
No sound stirred in it but the King’s footsteps and 
the puff -puff of sand against the colored windows. 
The air was heavy and sweet with the perfume of 
sandalwood and roses. Before the shrine of the 
god-of-storms that stood in the palace halls, the 
blue smoke of incense had been rising many hours, 
and this scent also drifted in. 

Almost the little jester would have nodded to 
sleep if he had not been so interested in watching 
the two figures before him. 

Presently the King paused in his pacing, swung 
around and spoke half angrily: 


188 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“What do you see in the crystal that you gaze 
at it so long, Faletto?” — for by this name they 
called the magician. 

The dark man smiled. “I see nothing new, your 
Majesty. Faces rise in the glass and pass into 
mist again. Just faces.” 

“What faces?” demanded the King impatiently. 
“What faces? Known or unknown?” 

“They are the faces of women,” said the man. 
“Of court beauties, my lord — and wise women of 
the universities, and of titled and noble ladies. The 
well-known faces of those whom it has been sug- 
gested very forcibly by your councilors — so one 
hears — that you might regard with some interest, 
and with a view to choosing from amongst them a 
queen.” 

The King shrugged his shoulders. “The topic 
is one I am not fond of,” he replied. 

Then he walked restlessly again, and the other 
returned to his crystal. 

All the light in the darkening room seemed con- 
centrated in it. 

Through the heated silence a bell struck the hour 
of sundown. 

His Royal Highness stopped and spoke again. 
“What comes now in the glass, Faletto?” he ques- 
tioned sharply. 


THE KING’S OPAL 


189 


“Still the faces rise and pass into the white mist, 
and rise again,” was the answer. “Some are beau- 
tiful; some are coldly thoughtful; some are plain 
and peaceful, as knowing none of the fret that 
beauty brings its possessor; some are determined 
of mouth; some are crafty-eyed and close-lipped; 
some are cherub-faced, and colored as apple blos- 
soms — yet, methinks, with a knowledge of life in 
their eyes.” 

The King threw out his hands. “Enough! 
Enough!” he cried. “Am I never to hear the end! 
I will have none of them! None of them! There 
is not a woman in our Kingdom who does not know 
more than the King. On every subject they can 
set me right, were it permitted. I feel it in every 
tone of their voices — in every glance. The most 
lovely have hidden their eyes behind glasses, for 
study has blurred their vision. They all have opin- 
ions on every subject — opinions set and hardened, 
and that no man could change. I have met all 
these women, Faletto, and I love them not. In 
their hearts they despise a King who plays on a 
shepherd’s pipe, and takes an interest in his flocks, 
and paints simple pictures, and grinds colors. They 
despise me as one who lacks deep learning and 
takes too great joy in little things. Were I in 
constant warfare with our enemies, I might redeem 


190 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


myself — but one cannot always fight. I will make 
none of these my queen, Faletto. They suit not 
my taste.” 

Behind the fern fronds the little jester laughed, 
but made no sound. He drew back further under 
the green. The short twilight came, and the pal- 
ace lamp-lighter entered and touched the candles 
in their wall cressets, and the tall lamps into flame. 
When the room was flooded with a yellow radiance 
he went out softly. 

Again the King walked back and forth, and the 
sand beat on the windows. 

Then the crystal-gazer spoke again, and his voice, 
calm and mellow, was as that of one uninfluenced 
by the heat or the storm. 

“The faces have gone, your Majesty,” he said. 

“What do you see now?” the King asked eagerly. 

“In the crystal there has grown a great opal,” 
the man replied dreamily. “A hand holds the opal 
— a King’s hand, for on one finger is a ring with 
the Royal Coat-of-Arms cut into a ruby.” 

“Yes? Yes?” the King questioned. 

“The opal is oblong,” the crystal-gazer continued, 
“and tinted with every color known to this world. 
On one side there shows a small black cross. It 
is as though the stone had been struck there twice ; 
down and over.” 

“The opal is mine!” exclaimed the King. “I 



. V; 


The King stepped closer to the ebony pedestal 


■iWf# 






















* 



THE KING’S OPAL 


191 


own just such a jewel. It is in a casket locked 
in the wall yonder. An oblong opal of rare beauty, 
though a strange black cross upon it has lessened 
its value. I can show you the very stone!” 

“Wait !” commanded the magician. Bending his 
scarlet turbaned head lower, he gazed down stead- 
ily. “The opal is still within the crystal,” he said, 
“but the hand is gone. The stone seems larger, or 
nearer. Now — now from the imprisoned fire in 
the heart of the jewel rises a face — a woman’s face! 
Now I see the throat, white and round as a pearl 
— now the shoulders — now the whole lovely body. 
She is clothed in a silvery gown that folds like mist 
about her. Her hair falls in golden waves to her 
waist. Her eyes are the color of the sea when the 
sun is on it, and she weeps — but their beauty is not 
dimmed.” 

The King stepped closer to the ebony pedestal. 

“Her tears fall steadily,” continued the crystal- 
gazer. “They are caught into the colors of the 
opal. But her face does not change. It is lovely 
beyond words. Now she fades — she passes — ” 

The King suddenly laid his hand on the man’s 
shoulder with a hard grip. 

“You are weaving a strange story, Faletto!” he 
exclaimed. “I will myself look into the crystal.” 

“Your Majesty will see nothing,” returned the 
other with his dark smile. “It is only I who have 


192 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


power over the ball, as you know. So far I read 
no story. But if you desire I will look longer.” 

“Look!”* ordered the King, “but look to some 
purpose. I am in no mood for unread riddles.” 

Once more the man bent his eyes downward. 
Nothing stirred the stillness but the sand against 
the windows and their own soft breathing. 

“Again the white mist in the crystal,” said the 
magician monotonously. “Again a rising form. 
No, no, many forms. I see a throne ; it is a throne, 
I think, for it is made of ebony and silver. On 
it sits an old, old King. On his white head is a 
crown. In his hand he holds a great opal that 
covers the open palm. Before him — wavering, no 
— now clear, I see the figure of a girl. Her robe 
is of silver tissue, as made of moonlight, material- 
ized. Her hair is in golden waves, and upon her 
head is a little circle of jewels. And now, there 
rises beside her a man strong and dark as an Arab, 
and fierce to look upon. He is in glittering armor, 
and his eyes are cruel. Through the mist now 
comes another form — a man — one young and fair 
and strong also. His face is indistinct. But it 
grows clearer as I look. Ah ! This man has your 
face, my Lord! Undeniably your face. Still he 
is not otherwise you. He seems to be a shepherd ; 
just a shepherd from the low hills. His only gar- 
ment is a tanned sheepskin, and he carries a crook. 


THE KING’S OPAL 


193 


From his waist belt dangles a leathern sling. His 
bare feet are sandaled. In his right hand he holds 
a little flute. By all these marks he is but a shep- 
herd, your Majesty. Strange! — for his face might 
be yours.” 

“What more, Faletto?” the King urged. “Is 
there more? Can you interpret aught?” 

Beneath the fern the little jester held his breath 
to listen. Seldom had he been so well entertained. 
His bright eyes shone in the fern gloom and were 
fastened on the magician’s figure. 

Now he spoke again. 

“Besides those I have told you of, and who are 
yet clear to my vision, I behold a dark-cloaked man, 
perchance a court astrologer, or passing wizard. 
Ah ! It is again most strange. This man hath my 
face, as the shepherd hath yours, your Majesty. 
Would your eyes could see as mine do! The pic- 
ture remains unwavering and clear. Beyond the 
group I have described are some people of the court. 
I see their faces all turned toward the old King, 
the little princess, the man in armor, the shepherd 
and the magician — otherwise they are but a blur 
of color and silken garments. It is as though they 
watched a play. Yet, methinks ’tis not less than 
a play of life , something that hath already been 
enacted, or that is to come. Now — now the King 
leans down. He seems to command the princess 


194 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


to depart with the armored man. At least his ges- 
tures might be so interpreted. She shakes her 
golden head, then throws out her arms as in pro- 
test or refusal. Again the old King commands 
more violently. Once more she refuses, and seems 
to implore. Her eyes are wide and frightened. 
The jeweled circlet slips from her hair to the floor 
unheeded. I see the man in armor lean forward 
as though to claim her. Now as he touches her, 
she turns and runs swiftly, straight to the shep- 
herd, and he catches her to his heart. In truth, 
a goodly shepherd this, your Majesty, a very goodly 
shepherd,” the magician ended, lifting his eyes. 

“Lose not the thread of your story,” the King 
broke in. “There is surely more to this !” 

“As your Majesty says — there is more,” he re- 
turned calmly, looking down again. “While I 
watch, the aged King rises and his face is to be 
feared. He throws his right hand violently out- 
ward and the great opal he was holding falls to 
the floor. The man in armor stands as one unde- 
cided what move to make, but his eyes flame with 
unspeakable rage. They are fixed upon the shep- 
herd who still holds the little princess as though 
he would shield her from harm. The King steps 
down from the throne. He turns to the magi- 
cian and seems to give some sharp command. Now, 
— now — the magician raises his black rod — such a 


THE KING’S OPAL 


195 


one as is in my possession, ebony, wound with a 
silver serpent.” The man faltered and stopped. 

“Leave not the story unfinished,” cried the King 
softly. “Look steadily, Faletto! What now? 
What now?” 

“The magician lifts the rod,” the mellow voice 
went on. “He waves it towards the little princess. 
His lips seem to chant, but his eyes are sorrowful. 
Now he lightly strikes the great opal shining with 
a thousand lights at his feet. He strikes it in the 
form of a tiny cross, down — and over. There fol- 
lows a red mist like a soft cloud. It blots out the 
figures. Now it fades, slowly, slowly. Again 
come the figures. Again the old King, the man 
in armor, the magician, the shepherd, the group of 
courtiers — ” 

“And the princess?” broke in the King eagerly. 
“The little princess, Faletto?” 

There was a strange stillness in the room. 

“I see no princess, your Majesty,” replied the 
dark man, his eyes fixed on the crystal. “She has 
vanished. But I see the magician stoop and lift 
the great opal. Now he rises, holding it on the 
palm of his hand. It is of heavenly beauty. The 
colors of the sunset and the dawn are in it and the 
silver-shot blue of the midnight sky. It is the 
wonder- jewel of the whole world! He passes it to 
the aged King, and together they gaze at it. I 


196 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


see it clearly. Now, something wavers in the rose- 
colored heart of the stone. I see rising slowly a 
woman’s face! Now the white round throat; now 
the beautiful body clothed in a gown of shining 
tissue. It is the little princess, my lord, and she 
weeps ceaselessly. I see her tears. The shepherd 
has hidden his face on his arm. He passes away. 
The armored man turns — is gone. The magician 
fades from the picture, with the wavering group 
of courtiers. All are gone except the King with 
the opal gleaming on the palm of his withered hand, 
and the princess, small as a fairy, imprisoned within 
it. He sits and stares into the jewel, and his 
wrath having accomplished this evil, burns out, 
and is as ashes in his soul. Now he lifts himself 
up tremblingly, and calls! — I see the magician re- 
turn. He stands before the King and they speak. 
The King, I think, is repentant, and implores the 
magician to undo his work — to release the princess. 
The other seems to refuse, albeit regretfully, as not 
able to obey. He raises the ebony rod, and his lips 
move as though they said, 'But once! — I have power 
over it but once !’ ” 

The quiet voice dropped, and the crystal-gazer 
lifted his eyes from the glass. 

“See you nothing more?” the King demanded, 
touching his arm. “Nothing more, Faletto?” 

“Nothing,” he answered. “The figures faded. 


THE KING’S OPAL 


197 


For a second the King’s hand holding the opal 
remained vividly outlined, then it also passed. The 
opal alone floated before my eyes in the crystal, 
while imprisoned within it I still saw the little 
princess, and her tears were falling. Then she also 
faded from view, and the great jewel dissolved as 
mist in the sun. The crystal is but clear white 
glass now. Look for yourself, O Most Mighty!” 

“But I am powerless to see the visions!” the King 
returned. “It is idle to ask me to look within the 
ball.” 

“Even you are able to discern the mist that comes 
when the pictures appear,” answered the other. 
“Now there is no mist. There is nothing.” 

The young King gave an impatient exclamation 
and looked into the shining globe. Looked long. 
“No,” he agreed. “There is nothing, nothing. It 
is a strange story, Faletto, and stirs my heart.” 

“I pray your Majesty bring me the opal you 
spoke of,” requested the crystal-gazer. 

The King went to a panel in the wall, touched 
a carven wood flower, and a tiny door opened. 
From a recess he drew out a brass casket. This 
he unlocked, and carried to the magician. The 
casket held many precious stones, and shining 
among them was the great opal. 

“The very jewel of my vision!” he cried. “The 
very jewel! Of the same radiance and shape, and 


198 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


marked the little black cross. Now, here be 
wonders that I fain would unravel.” 

“That you must unravel!” commanded the King 
slowly. Then he lifted the opal and touched it 
with his lips. 

“Faletto!” he said, his voice trembling, “place 
the stone upon your hand and look deeply into its 
colors. Tell me what you see.” 

“I have no power over aught but my crystal,” 
the other replied, “but as you command, I obey.” 

He held out his dark hand, and the King laid 
the stone upon it. 

Again silence filled the yellow-lighted room. 
The jester drew closer to the figures, though he 
kept in the shadows. 

Minutes went by. Then the crystal-gazer spoke. 

“Within the opal I see the imprisoned princess,” 
he said. “She is lovely beyond my dreams of 
beauty. But she weeps. I see her tears, though 
she is fairy small.” 

The King caught the man’s arm and swung him 
about. 

“By my crown you will unravel this story for me 
by to-morrow night at this hour, Faletto!” he 
said in his imperious young voice. “You will un- 
ravel it willingly, or we will find a way to make 
you!” 

So saying, he took the opal and locked it into the 


THE KING’S OPAL 


199 


brass casket, and he replaced it behind the panel, 
and locked also the flowered door. 

“I dine with my ministers to-night, Faletto, but 
to-morrow at this hour meet me here. Then we 
will expect a full solution of what you have seen in 
the crystal, and what we have heard.” 

“O King, live forever!” the crystal-gazer re- 
turned gently. “It shall be as you desire, or I 
will pay forfeit with my life.” 

The young King smiled coldly, then with a little 
careless backward nod as dismissing the subject, 
strode from the room. 

Softly the jester stole back beneath the drooping 
fern, and he shook from head to foot. 

The tall dark-cloaked figure stood as he had when 
the King left him, and listened until the last sound 
of the royal foot-steps died. 

Far away in the palace he knew the courtiers 
would soon gather into the banquet hall. This part 
of the palace might be deserted for hours. Softly 
he turned and there was a smile on his lips. He 
walked over to the great fern and thrust his hand 
beneath the green. Then he took a firm hold upon 
the little jester and brought him out into the light. 
“Sometimes evil befalls listeners,” he said in his 
strangely sweet voice. “This time good is to befall 
one. You have heard my crystal-reading, Bijou, 
to the last word, — have you not?” 


200 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The jester’s knees shook under him. Lying, he 
felt — even the polite lies that were court coinage — 
would not now pass current. “I have heard, O 
Great One,” he admitted. 

“Then listen further,” commanded the dark man. 
“You are as an open book to me, Bijou. I read 
your thoughts, so it would be best you stayed with 
the truth. Now hark you! In the forest beyond 
the lake is an old woman who is a lace-maker, and 
poor, yet not so poor but that she has a few sheep 
on the green beyond. Is this not so?” 

“Of a verity ’tis so,” Bijou answered shakily. 

“This ancient dame is your Grandmother? An- 
swer me?” 

“O Mighty One, you speak with knowledge,” he 
returned. 

“With this ancient dame,” continued the ma- 
gician, “has lived these five years, a little maid most 
fair to look upon, who is your sister. Is it not as 
I say?” 

“It is so, O Greatness!” the jester replied, in 
wonder. 

“Is she good as she is beautiful?” asked the other. 
“Beshrew me if you parry this question or answer 
it not truthfully, much trouble will befall you.” 

A flashing smile lit up the little jester’s face. 
“Her goodness far exceeds her beauty, my Lord!” 
he exclaimed. “To every living thing she is ten- 


THE KING’S OPAL 


201 


der. She careth for my grand-dame, and she tends 
the few sheep on the green. But she knoweth not 
much,” he ended ruefully. “She readeth books, 
’tis true, but they be not weighty tomes of serious 
things. She is too merry, methinks, to scan the 
philosophies to much purpose, and of the sciences 
she is 'vastly uninformed. For accomplishments 
she hath but the art of making lace and a gift of 
deftness in playing a lute.” 

“She hath enough,” said the crystal-gazer. 
“What you tell me is even what I thought, for 
I have watched her often. Now, hark you again. 
To-night the sand storm ends, and the moon comes 
out full at midnight. At that hour you are to go 
with me to the dame’s hut in the palm forest. 
There you are to bring your sister to me beneath 
the trees, taking care none know of our adventure. 
Art ready to obey?” 

“Thou wilt do her no harm?” the jester ques- 
tioned suddenly. 

“On the contrary, I will bring her joy,” the man 
answered with the smile that charmed the children 
into following him. “Believe this, and all will be 
well, Bijou. So, meet me at the stroke of mid- 
night by the gate that opens out of the painted 
garden wall. Lift your hand in promise.” 

The little jester lifted a trembling hand and gave 
his word. Then they parted. 


202 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


At midnight the crystal-gazer wrapped in his 
cloak, and the jester with him, slipped into the 
shadows beyond the palace garden, and journeyed 
through the city streets and on into the open coun- 
try. The moon floated like a great silver bubble 
in a clear sky, for the long sand storm was over. 

Their feet made no sound as they went, for sand 
softened every path, and it would be days before 
it was all brushed away. 

By and by the palm woods loomed before them, 
and the little jester led the way to the old dame’s 
hut. It was so humble a place, so vine-covered, 
one might easily have passed it by. 

Under the shadows of some palmetto trees the 
crystal-gazer stopped. 

“Here I will wait, Bijou,” he said. “Bring your 
sister to me; and if you would escape trouble, 
waken not your grand-dame.” 

The jester left to do his bidding, and the man 
waited in the silver-edged darkness. 

After a little while he saw two figures come out 
from the hut through the window at the side. They 
ran lightly toward him, hand in hand, and he 
stepped to meet them. 

“Here she is, O Greatness!” cried the jester, 
“and make haste, I pray thee, to tell her your wish 
and let her away. My grand-dame is sharp of 
hearing and light of slumber.” 



He took her hand and bending down he kissed it in courtly fashion. 







THE KING S OPAL 


203 


The little maid said nothing. Her eyes, fresh 
from sleep, were wide and starry. Her hair, loos- 
ened from its braids, was shaken about her as a 
cloak of gold. Her face was lovelier than there 
are words to say, and it was filled with wonder and 
unspoken questions. She wore a homespun gown 
of brown, and her little feet were bare and pearly 
white against the grass. 

The crystal-gazer went close to her and took her 
hand. Bending down he kissed it in courtly fash- 
ion. Then he looked into her eyes. 

“Little maid,” he said, “I have watched you long. 
Now I read your heart. It is full of love to all 
things living. It is full of pity for all things hurt. 
It is full of joy and thankfulness for all things 
beautiful. Of such as you are the Kingdom of 
Heaven, and of such should be the Kingdoms of 
Earth.” So saying he passed his hand lightly be- 
fore her eyes. It fluttered as a bird might across 
their sight. 

She wavered a little as though about to run, then 
stood quite still and smiled up into his eyes. 

“Little maid,” he said again, still moving his dark 
hands before her, “you are no longer the compan- 
ion of the old lace-maker, your grand-dame; no 
longer the little maid of the palm-woods, who spins 
and bakes, and helps the shepherds when the lambs 
fall ill, or tends her sheep on the green. You are 


204 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


a princess! A princess of rare beauty, who alas! 
has suffered long imprisonment. Do you not re- 
member your father would have had you wed the 
fearsome warrior from the country of barbarians? 
But you loved a shepherd. You still love, but the 
shepherd has become a King! It is a King you 
love, little princess, and he adores you. But though 
he is a King, in his heart he is only a shepherd, and 
cares but for simple joys, as indeed do you. So 
you will be happy together. See! Here is your 
court-robe of silver tissue. When we reach the pal- 
ace you will put it on.” From beneath his cloak 
he drew out a shimmering gown, and shook it from 
its folds. 

The girl gave a little ecstatic cry. “It is my 
court-robe!” she said. “I cannot remember when 
I wore it last, it seems so long ago — but verily it 
is mine!” 

“It is yours indeed,” he nodded. The little jester 
trembled as with an ague, but for utter fear made 
no sound. 

“Now,” said the crystal-gazer, “we will go to the 
palace. This time on foot, as we have no caval- 
cade. Here your attendant,” pointing to the jes- 
ter, “is but the King’s fool, though he is a merry 
fellow who will be at your bidding, and be a good 
friend at court.” 


THE KING’S OPAL 


205 


“I am her brother!” cried the jester. “O Great- 
ness, let her not forget! I am her brother!” 

The little maid touched him as though puzzled. 
“You are Bijou,” she said, “and I love you, whether 
you are my brother or not — so what matter?” 

“Be content,” counseled the crystal-gazer. “Such 
wealth comes not to every man, little jester. And 
now, your Highness, take Bijou’s sandals, and 
mind not their size. He will strap them on your 
feet. We go to the palace quickly.” 

Laughingly she let the pointed sandals be fas- 
tened, and then they all three hastened on and 
reached the palace gardens just before the dawn. 

There the magician gave the little maid into the 
jester’s care, and told him to screen her from all 
curious eyes. 

“When the short twilight falls and the King’s 
lamplighter makes his rounds of the palace, bring 
the princess to the alcove that is called mine, in 
the drawing-room. See the curtains be drawn. 
Here is the robe of cloth of silver. This the 
princess is to put on. Folded within it are silver 
sandals for her feet. Her hair is to be unbound 
as it is now. I trust you to reach the alcove at 
the twilight hour, by the hallway, and unseen. 
There wait.” 

He spoke only to the jester, for the little maid 


206 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


seemed as one who walked in sleep, though her eyes 
shone, and her lips smiled. 

Bijou alone seemed troubled. Not a merry quip 
remained with him. His eyes kept filling with 
tears, and his mouth drooped dejectedly. 

“I would I were out of this coil, O Greatness!” 
he cried in sudden impulse. “Methinks you have 
some strange wizardry to play upon His Majesty. 
I like it not, and would not be party to it ! I know 
not what you would do, or why you have brought 
my little sister thither. She is but an humble 
maiden, though perchance fair enough to gaze 
upon.” 

“Your people were not humble always, Bijou?” 
said the crystal-gazer questioningly. 

“Nay — in truth that they were not!” he returned. 
“In the very long ago a grandfather of ours was 
King in some land beyond the sand — so says my 
ancient grand-dame. But his kingdom was over- 
thrown, and none are left who know rightly when, 
or why. Because I am a juggler and can play 
some trickery of hand and foot, I have the luck 
to be court jester. Of my sister’s life you know, 
and it is simple and obscure.” 

“Had things gone better with that distant grand- 
father of yours, Bijou, you might have been a 
prince, and your little sister a princess,” said the 
dark man. “But fortune turns her wheel in many 


THE KING S OPAL 


207 


ways. Look you now, — and take heed! What 
you have heard keep behind your bps. What you 
have seen repeat not. You overlistened and heard 
me read the crystal, so to-night you know the King 
has commanded me to interpret the story. He will 
again bring from its casket the great opal marked 
with the black cross, the opal wherein I told him 
I saw the imprisoned princess. What follows after 
sundown to-night you will see. Obey all my words 
— and now to your apartments!” 

Swiftly the two young figures ran through the 
King’s garden, and disappeared up a winding stair 
on the outside of the palace wall. The little maid 
looked back once at the magician, and smiled as in 
a dream. Then the jester drew her through a tiny 
door and it was closed. 

The court folk had been notified that His Maj- 
esty desired no attendants that afternoon, nor 
would receive anyone in the drawing-room. 

At twilight the King entered the room alone. 
His eyes were eager, but tired, as those of one lack- 
ing sleep. The crystal-gazer for once had read him 
a story that puzzled and tormented him as no story 
ever had before. 

Hitherto there had always been a clew to the 
dark man’s visions; some reason lay behind them. 
This one alone that so thrilled his heart, seemed 
made of mystery. A certain anger brooded in 


208 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


him. Of one thing he was determined, the crystal- 
gazer should solve his story, bring some definite 
meaning out of it, or he and his ball of glass would 
be parted forever; the ball thrown into the deepest 
of wells, and the man himself banished from court; 
though not perhaps from the land, as he was still 
an interesting fellow, and so far, worth keep- 
ing. 

In this mood, the King waited. He paced the 
rug-strewn floor as he had on the day before. The 
hour had struck, the hour fixed for the crystal- 
gazer to meet him. Yet the man did not come. 
The short twilight was upon them. The lamp- 
lighter entered and lit the candles in the wall cres- 
sets and the tall brass shaded lamps. 

As he withdrew, the crystal-gazer parted the 
curtains of the alcove called his, and came into the 
room. 

The heavy cloak swung about his figure, and he 
carried the crystal ball. 

He bowed low to the King, then walked to the 
ebony pedestal and placed the ball in its golden 
cup. 

The King’s impatience died away, and a sense 
of calm and peace took its place. 

“Are you ready to unravel your vision of yester- 
day, Faletto,” he said, half-lightly — “or am I to 
be told it had no hidden meaning, and was but the 


THE KING’S OPAL 


209 


idle tale of an idle hour? Pause well before you 
speak. Methinks I will not take kindly to that 
excuse for its telling.” 

The dark man looked at him steadily, and the 
little compelling smile that was so rarely seen came 
to his lips. 

‘T bring no excuses, my Lord,” he said. 

“Then you have found the meaning of what your 
crystal showed?” exclaimed the King. “Now that 
is well! Much honor awaits you, Faletto, if you 
interpret it so it carries conviction to me also. But 
hasten! What comes first in this matter?” 

“I crave your Majesty’s indulgence,” returned 
the man. “No new meaning has come to me con- 
cerning the pictures that rose yester eve in my crys- 
tal. I know not why the old King desired one who 
seemed to be a princess to depart with one who 
seemed to be a warrior. I know not why she re- 
fused — or why she fled to one who seemed to be a 
shepherd. I cannot tell what bitter curse impris- 
oned her in the opal — or by what power it was 
done. A vision is a vision — seen by the eye of the 
mind — whether there be a crystal before one or 
the clear air of heaven, or whether the eyes of the 
body be shut in sleep. Indeed ’tis then perchance 
we see clearest. I beseech you, be tolerant, if it 
is not possible for me to read the crystal’s story as 
well as you desire.” 


210 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


The King gave a sharp exclamation. “You 
waive the question, Faletto!” he cried. 

“I beg your Majesty’s patience only because I 
think I can encompass enough to satisfy even you. 
I believe, if the princess be still imprisoned, as the 
vision seemed to make clear — I believe I possess 
the charm to free her. Yet, your Majesty, I hes- 
itate. Were she set free, what would be her fate? 
It is a question of much moment.” 

The King stepped close to him. 

“Faletto,” he said softly, his eyes shining in his 
young face, “if indeed this is all as it was in the 
crystal, and you release the little princess, and give 
her joy in place of her tears, she shall be my queen. 
Since you told me of her I have thought of naught 
else. I am tormented for fear this be even less 
than a dream. That you have told me only of a 
flight of your wild fancy. I am possessed with but 
one wish — to behold the loveliness of the one whom 
fate so hardly imprisoned. In truth, and by my 
crown, this is my only wish.” 

The dark man stood immovably a moment; then 
he spoke, and in tones of command that rang across 
the room: 

“Bring me the great opal!” 

The King went to the flowered panel, took the 
jewel from its casket, and returned with it in his 
hand. 


THE KING S OPAL 


211 


“Lay it at your feet, and fix your eyes upon it,” 
said the crystal-gazer. 

“Within the alcove is my ebony rod, wound with 
the silver serpent. This I have need of and will 
bring it.” Turning, he entered the curtained 
alcove. 

Upon the mosaic floor the opal burned with a 
thousand soft lights. It was as though the colors 
of all jewels were melted into it, and it held the 
hues of the humming-bird’s throat and the pea- 
cock’s crest. The pinks and crimsons of rose leaves 
had gone into its making, but its perfect beauty 
was marred by the black cross it bore. 

The King fixed his eyes upon this cross, and 
wondered at it. So strange a mark it was upon 
such heavenly colors. 

As he gazed down, truly it seemed to him he 
saw the fairy-small, imprisoned princess. Yet he 
was not sure. Faletto saw — then why not he, he 
questioned hotly. Lifting his eyes, he beheld the 
magician. The commanding figure stood before 
him, and the jewel shone at their feet. 

The young King trembled a little, for never had 
he seen the crystal-gazer look as he did now. In 
his eyes the golden light sparkled as the sun on the 
sea, and his face was lit with happiness. 

His right hand came through the folds of his 
cloak and held the ebony rod. 


212 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


“Look not upon me,” he said, “but upon the opal 
where the black marks have been implanted, for 
it is there I will strike!” 

The young King obeyed. Then the magician’s 
voice suddenly broke into a soft chant — 

“Love is the Lord and the Master of Life, 

From the beginning, and on to the end; 

Love sweetens bitterness, Love cureth strife. 

No joy is broken that Love cannot mend!” 

Twice over the mellow song floated through the 
room. As the words died away the crystal-gazer 
swung his arm forward — the folds of his cloak rose 
and fell, and he struck the opal, shattering it into 
a thousand pieces. 

The King raised his eyes with a short cry — and 
behold! the little princess stood before him — even 
the very little princess of the vision in the crystal! 

Lightly the crystal-gazer passed his hand before 
her face as one who brushes away an invisible veil, 
and the look of sleep and dreams went from her 
eyes, giving place to one of bewilderment. 

His Majesty turned to her, but as one who feared 
to speak, lest she vanish. 

The princess gave a little soft laugh. “Have I 
been asleep?” she cried, “and was it in the rainbow? 
— Oh, I have been somewhere that was steeped in 
color! Where was it, Bellmore?” she questioned 


THE KING’S OPAL 


213 


the King. “Could I have been in the rose garden, 
or in a coral grove?” Then she held out her hands 
and ran to him merrily. “O Bellmore, how grand 
you are!” she said. “Where are the sheep? And 
does my father know you are here? You are like 
a Prince! A very Prince! Perhaps he has made 
you one to please me? Tell me quickly!” 

The King caught her hands and raised them to 
his lips. 

“O little princess — you have been lost and Fa- 
letto has found you,” he answered. “Do not try 
and remember whether it was in the rose-garden 
or the rainbow, or a coral grove! My sheep are 
still out on the low hills, and sometimes you may 
come out there and be a shepherdess with me, and 
sometimes I can come home with you and play 
that I am King and you are Queen — for we will 
be together always — do you understand? — always!” 

He took her hand and they went down the long 
room together, talking of what was, and had been, 
and what the days would be — and everything else 
they forgot. 

The crystal-gazer watched them a moment, then 
parted the curtains of his alcove and entered. Close 
behind the curtains the little jester stood and 
quaked with fear. 

The dark man beckoned to him to follow, and 
silently they passed out, down the deserted palace 


214 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


hall and into the scented darkness of the King’s 
garden. 

The moon floated overhead like a great copy of 
the crystal-gazer’s ball of glass. It silvered the 
edges of the palm leaves, and glinted on the night- 
moth’s wings. It checkered the grass with velvet- 
black shadows. 

Beneath a wide-leafed tree the man stopped. 
Then he turned and spoke. 

“You have heard, and seen, and know. Silence 
is good, little jester.” 

The boy looked up at the majestic figure with 
angry eyes, and his fear departed. 

“You are a trickster!” he cried hotly. “A thief 
also — one who has stolen my little sister from me 
— and you are a knave who has fooled the King!” 

The dark man was silent a moment. Then he 
spoke again. 

“Hard words break no bones,” he said gently. 
“They strike, but leave no mark, little jester. Now 
listen, and forget a space your wrath. From a 
King you came — this you truthfully told — so it be- 
seemeth your sister is a princess. She had been 
long imprisoned, albeit you know it not. You say 
there is no honesty in me, yet, of a verity I say 
there be many imprisoned in this world who walk 
in seeming freedom. She also,' the little princess, 
was hidden and held fast, though not in the heart 


THE KING’S OPAL 


215 


of an opal. Grant me forgiveness, little jester, for 
what you cannot understand and I may not unfold. 
Methinks Heaven has given me a dangerous gift, 
that of being able to cast a charm over those I 
meet, that makes them see, for a little, even as I 
would have them see, and believe — for a space — as 
I would have them believe. But over you I have 
cast no spell, though it would have been an easy 
task. You have said truly. I am a trickster, but 
it is even as the moon is a trickster, which makes 
beauty where no beauty was before, in waste and 
scarred places of the earth; and as the snow is a 
trickster, though of the snow you know nothing — 
the snow that overnight turns unsightly things into 
monuments of loveliness. The fairies and wood- 
elves that perchance only the King and princess 
alone in this wise land, believe in, weave happy 
spells over mortals — we are told — while the great- 
est trickster of them all is the Springtime, for she 
charms us into believing this old, old world is still 
young. But my time here is over. My work fin- 
ished. To-night I go. At the moment of my de- 
parture I will lift the last remnant of the spell I 
have cast upon the King and princess from them. 
But one thing, O wise little jester, I cannot change 
or lift from their hearts, and that is the spell of 
Love. Your eyes clear and young must have seen 
it held them with its power. This will be enough 


216 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


to make all things plain to them, and will plead 
my excuse.” 

Then, still smiling, and in his bewitching voice, 
he chanted as he had just before he struck the great 
opal: 

“Love is the Lord and the Master of Life, 

From the beginning, and on to the end ; 

Love sweetens bitterness, Love cureth strife. 

No joy is broken that Love cannot mend!” 

As the words drifted away the jester dropped to 
his knees, caught the hem of the man’s cloak and 
lifted it to his lips. 

‘Ask not my forgiveness, O Great One!” he 
cried. “It is I who should ask forgiveness of thee! 
Only look on me as you do now and I will follow 
thee across the world!” 

The man shook his head, but his eyes were misty, 
as though they held tears. 

“Almost I believe you would, and this, little jes- 
ter, without incantation or charm of any fashion. 
In truth my heart is warmed by this! Sometime 
we will meet again, but now I will not bid you 
follow me. Neither the stars nor my will point 
to that. Rather would I leave the princess in 
your keeping as well as the King. And now 
farewell!” 

As the little jester gazed upward, wonder-eyed, 


THE KING’S OPAL 


217 


at the dark man, he saw the folds of his cloak rise 
like great and glistening wings, for the underside 
was woven of silver and blue and scarlet threads. 
The man’s turban fell to the ground, and about his 
head his hair shone wavy and bright as copper, 
iwhile his eyes were like the stars. 

“Who are you?” the little jester cried, in trem- 
bling tones. “Who are you, O Greatness?” 

“I am one who comes from afar to find lost lovers 
— and friends who pass each other in the dark, not 
knowing. Perchance it is from a fairy country I 
come or some happy place where fewer mistakes 
are made than in this world — that is called there 
‘The Star of Tears.’ I am a mender of hearts; 
a giver of joy; an opener of locks and fast-closed 
doors. I am guardian of kings, as well as of lit- 
tle maids who are not overwise in this earth’s wis- 
dom. By many ways I come, and in many garbs. 
I lead true lovers until they meet, whether it be 
by rosy paths or along rough and lonely country. 
When they do not heed me they miss their way 
and then I am sorrowful. But to-night, little jes- 
ter, I am very joyful!” 

The little jester listened, breathlessly. Sud- 
denly he stretched out his hands, for the face above 
him looked down with the smile the children used 
to follow. 

“Go not without me, O Greatness ! Go not with- 


218 THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE 


out me!” he cried, and tears blurred his sight. 
When he saw clearly again the garden was empty. 
At least only he in his fool’s cap and bells, and 
his pied red and yellow, stood beneath the shadowy 
tree. Overhead the moon still floated round and 
clear as a great ball of crystal. So quiet it was 
that he fancied he heard far off the soft closing of 
the gate in the wall — but of this he could not be 
sure. He picked up the silken turban from the 
ground. Holding it fast, he shook his head a little 
till the bells on his cap jingled. 

“If you had been a fairy,” he said, “I think you 
would have grown small, and passed away under 
the leaves ; and if you had been a spirit, you would 
have left me when my eyes were clear, and you 
would have flashed upward into the sky, as is the 
way, methinks, of spirits. But this,” and he raised 
the scarlet turban to his lips, “this was worn by a 
man . I am content, O Greatness, for now I will 
watch until you come again.” 

And then, because the garden was so sweet- 
scented and cool, and the moon was good company, 
and he was very tired and a little lonely, the jester 
curled up under the shadowy tree and went to sleep. 


rD 61 


THE END 








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